


Midspring Melancholy

by PlumTea, somnicordia (hihazuki), TheHangedMan



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Graphic Description of Corpses, Horror, M/M, Mutual Pining, Tags Will Update As Story Progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23872084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/pseuds/PlumTea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihazuki/pseuds/somnicordia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHangedMan/pseuds/TheHangedMan
Summary: In the shadows of their wooden rental house, Sandalphon tries to enjoy his ten day vacation. Up here, they have enough food stockpiled to last a month, books and games, friends, and his beloved Lucifer. Except something isn't right. Some things don't look the way they should.
Relationships: Halluel/Malluel, Lucifer/Sandalphon (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 64





	1. Thursday, Friday, Saturday

Sandalphon checks his reflection in the rearview mirror. He can keep his focus on the road when he’s driving, but now that they’re parked and the gas is off, there’s nothing to distract him from the sun by his side.

“I think I see Mal through the window,” Lucifer notes, leaning against the window to get a closer look. Their legs brush up against each other, and Sandalphon grips the wheel tighter. 

Their car is parked next to a small shed strung with Christmas lights long out of season, green paint faded where the sun has hit it directly. Mud squelches under his feet as he exits, still wet from the rain the night before. The air here tastes so different from the city. 

Lucifer already has started unpacking their supplies for the week ahead; the week ahead, the thought sends shivers of excitement and trepidation down Sandalphon’s neck. His long deserved vacation, hard wrung from weeks toiling on his feet at the coffee shop. A week and a few days, together with Lucifer, a promise of privacy, of sleeping in and not having to worry about either of them having to rise before the sun rises for the early shift. 

“Can you help grab the water bottles?” Lucifer asks as he hauls a cooler into his arms. Hal opens the door for him, waving wildly at them both. 

They’ve bought half the food needed for the trip, and the girls have brought the other half. A long excursion to the grocery store and a long bill on Sandalphon’s credit card come in the forms of vegetables to grill or make into soup, beef patties, sausage, rolls, plenty of cereal and fruit, and of course, juice and alcohol to make drinks. The four of them booked this house for a week, and they have to fill the place up for them to live in. 

It’s not hard; the furniture is a nice wood, some bought, some hand-carved. Hal has set up her speakers by the TV, and Mal’s bags have taken refuge on the surrounding couches. With a grunt, Lucifer puts down the cooler on the kitchen table, luckily not located too far away from the entryway. Sandalphon, heels having gathered a bit of mud, puts down his bags by the full-length mirror by the front door. 

“You made good time!” They hear Mal before they see her, bounding out of the back room. “They have a pool table and a ping-pong table! They didn’t have that last time.”

Hal and Mal have spent weekends at this rental house before, so no doubt they’ve grabbed the better room. Sandalphon confirms this when he sees that the girls have taken the room on the right side of the stairs, the one that overlooks the small stream running through the property. The room that Sandalphon puts his backpack down in peeks out to the other side of the property, one that peers into the dense stretch of wood. It’s not too large and not too small, but Sandalphon flushes at how narrow the bed is, wide enough for two but still snug. 

By the time he’s back downstairs, Lucifer is unloading all of their groceries into the fridge. 

“You don’t have to do everything right now,” Hal calls from the couch, having kicked her feet up across the length of one so her sandals are perched atop her bags. “Come sit!” Lucifer gives her a polite smile but continues unpacking. Hal hooks her arm around Sandalphon’s waist and pulls him onto the couch. He glares, but she pops a can of beer out of her backpack and holds it out to him. 

The first sip bubbles cool down his throat, and he gets slack across his shoulders. He’s by no means a new driver, but the drive here was four hours, and he’s tired. Having to pay attention to the road, and not how Lucifer looked in the morning as the sunlight crept out from under the clouds to shade the contours of his smile, was a test. 

“You look terrible,” Hal remarks. “Traffic?”

Sandalphon shakes his head. “No, overtime shifts this week.” The balls of his feet still ache, even after a long soak in the bath and putting his feet up for a few hours. Ten days without customers yelling at him to remake their drinks, euphoria. 

“Cheers to that,” she hums, and raises her own can of beer. 

Mal gasps, stomping her feet as she makes her way into the kitchen. “You don’t have to do that right now!”

Interrupted again, Lucifer holds up a carton of strawberries. “These will go bad if they’re not refrigerated.” 

“Typical Lucifer,” Mal huffs, crossing her arms. “You don’t have to be so responsible all the time!”

“He’s always been like that,” Hal adds. “Eight years, and he hasn’t changed. Good old straightforward, honest Lucifer.”

Sandalphon swallows hard. He hasn’t known Lucifer for eight years. 

Mal knocks her bags onto the floor and drags Lucifer from the kitchen onto one of the couches. Grinning wide, she pushes herself forward. “We’re going to have a great time. No distractions! And,” she shoots a glance at Lucifer and Hal, “no work emails.”

Hal sighs dramatically, and Lucifer looks down, sheepish. 

“We earned this vacation!” Mal exclaims. “So we’re going to have a _blast_.”

“Couples vacation!” Hal calls out, raising her glass, and Mal echoes her. 

Lucifer politely joins in, and when Sandalphon sees Lucifer nod in his direction, smile alight, he joins in too. 

They are going to have a good time. 

* * *

“Oh Sandy,” Mal giggles as she helps him back onto his feet, “you really shouldn’t have worn heels on a hike.”

He rights himself, and brushes some of the dirt off his pants. It’s not as bad as she makes it sound; he isn’t in stilettos. He specifically brought heels with rubber soles so he had some footholds, but he didn’t anticipate the trail being wet. The trail markers are a bright yellow, but the path hasn’t been beaten down enough to make it obvious where they’re supposed to go. 

Disgruntled, he toes at the patch of mud that nearly sent him falling down the side of the mountain. The slopes here weren’t too dangerous, but the angles cut away sharp, and the small green plants just off the ground wouldn’t help break a fall. The trees are dense, but spaced just enough apart that grabbing one would be a matter of chance. None of them can hear it, but the stream flows quietly below, still in sight, still whistling by at its own pace.

They stop by a large tree with moss towards the bottom, its roots bulging thick like arteries down the incline. Mal plops down on one of the thicker roots, taking a break for water. Past them, the path diverges into two different trails, one red and one blue. 

“It seems that the red goes down the hill to the road, and the blue heads up the mountain.” Sandalphon follows where Lucifer points down the blue trail; there are some natural steps leading up the slope, but it looks steep. Thin trees peek out from the top, looking down on them, sending strokes of shadow below. 

Mal has collected a few native flowers, tucking them in her pocket to press and dry later. She runs on a little up the hill, nearly stumbling herself, with Hal yelling, “Careful!” after her. Mal shoots back a thumbs up, her gait go from wild to careful. Sandalphon catches Lucifer standing on the edge of the path, looking over where the mountainside drops out. He steps to Lucifer’s side, and sees the view that has stunned him. 

Looking out, they can see a good chunk of the trail from between where the foliage is thin, above the still-growing bushes is a painting of differently shaped trees. They’re all distinct, even as they stretch out to where the purple mountains roll across the horizon and try to swallow the clouds. “And we haven’t even finished the trail yet,” Lucifer remarks, marveled. “Imagine what it’s like at the top.”

Mal hurries down the hill, kicking up a flurry of leaves under her shoes. Green leaves and thin stems overflow from her sweater pockets. “I’m good to go!” she calls out, just as Lucifer snaps a picture of the view with his phone. 

Going down the mountain is much easier than their climb up; there are no moments to pause to ease their aching limbs. Still, Sandalphon can’t say it’s easy, as his heart races when gravity takes his feet down, down, without any sort of place to stop at. 

The trail exits right to the road, and they retrace their steps. It’s not far to the edge of the property from the trail, just a good fifteen minute walk. The road is wide, and only one car passes them on the way back. 

Now that they’re tired, their pace is slow and easy. Hal jumps up onto the guard rail to peer over the cliff where the land dips out, filled with clear water. “The reservoir is filled up this time,” she marvels, running her fingers through her long wavy hair. “Last time, it was maybe half as full.”

“We came in wintertime,” Mal points out, hopping onto the guard rail herself. 

Unlike the river flowing through the mountain, or the stream trickling across the property, the reservoir is still, like a mirror floating in a dream. No foam crests the edges, and if there are any stray leaves disturbing the surface, they’re too high up to spot them.

“The mountain water flows into here?” Sandalphon mutters.

“And the stream by the house too.”

“What if something falls in? Like a deer?”

Hal laughs. “I’m sure there are filters in the reservoir somewhere. Stuff falls into rivers all the time; dirt, mud. Or else someone might find a leaf in their sink!”

Sandalphon didn’t know, and he never thought to think about it before. Water has always been from the sink tap, or cooled in the fridge. 

Trying to hop down, Hal’s heel catches on the notch in the guard rail and she pitches backward. Had Lucifer not reacted in time, her skull would have hit the ground at a horrible angle. Hal pauses, still caught in the fall, but once she realizes what’s happened, she shakes her head and rights the pavement under her feet. “That was close!” she exclaims. “Thanks, I nearly cracked my head open.”

Lucifer gives her a reassuring smile, the same kind he shows to everyone, letting his generosity bloom. Lucifer is so gentle, a figure of flame in the endless sky. Their eyes meet, and Lucifer gives him a nod, holding out his hand so they lace their fingers together. Sandalphon feels his head kick into overdrive, but the midday wind is calm and a little chilly, and Lucifer’s palm is warm. 

The side road to the property snakes away from the main road, a worn wooden gate that creaks on its hinges is the only thing indicating that there’s a house up ahead. Away from the reservoir crawls their small stream, flowing towards them, uncaring. It’s still a trek to the house, and Sandalphon watches the woods on his right and the short grass sloping up the hill on his left. He was driving the first time and he’d been distracted by how densely packed together the trees were the second time, but now he spots, all the way up the hill, a small brown house. Human shapes linger nearby the porch, speaking amongst themselves. 

Mal yells out a hello, waving her arms frantically, and Hal joins in. Sandalphon, flustered, digs his free hand deep into his pocket, but Lucifer gives a polite wave. Who knows if the people can hear them yelling, but they can see, and they wave back. 

“You know them?” Sandalphon asks.

“Of course not!” Hal laughs. “But isn’t it nice to say hello?”

Sandalphon stares up the hill, cast in greens and whitish gold. From here, he can’t even tell what the people by the house are wearing; only shapes, only colors. They look so close, but so far. If they were to start up the hill, that would be another hike in itself. But as they pass, leaving the human shapes up the hill behind, the faded green of the shed, the gray circle of stones around a campfire site, and the red chicken coop slowly come into view. Then their house, wood painted dark, waiting. 

Lucifer tugs Sandalphon towards the stream, and they balance on the small rocks by the edge. Small waves bubble into white foam, but it isn’t too deep, maybe it would be up to Sandalphon’s knees if he jumped in. They two stare into the water, imagining fish skittering past them, but there’s nothing but the waves and the whooshing of current trickling downstream. Sandalphon follows the flow with his eyes, down to where the pine trees start to bend over the water. 

“Peaceful, isn’t it?” Lucifer’s voice reverberates over the pulsing current. “It’ll be just us for a while.”

Just them, the pulse across Lucifer’s palm, the beat in Sandalphon’s heart. 

* * *

Three years ago, Sandalphon made a promise to himself when he was released from that courtroom, probation hanging heavy over his head: _No more being a pushover._

It was sticking his neck out for traitorous bastards that got him into that mess in the first place. Naiveté at its peak, a shaky foothold on the ground. Whatever he was looking for, that wasn’t it. Everything had an expiration date, and his was right after he outlived his usefulness.

He’d changed; or so he thought. Charity was met with a bladed edge, empty promises were spat to the ground. Distrust was in the marrow of his bones, anger ran through his blood. He'd been untouchable, powerful in his solitude… until he met Lucifer, who had innocent eyes, a face of an angel, and a smile that’s sharper than a honed knife. 

Sandalphon helps out with dinner for approximately ten minutes before Lucifer makes him stop. Despite his protests, he’s having a harder time trying to distribute his balance without seeming like he’s favoring one foot over the other. “But I can’t make you cook dinner by yourself.”

“You’re not making me do anything, Sandalphon. I want to cook dinner for us.” Lucifer says, attention focused on peeling the clams ( _he_ had helped scrub clean of dirt and grime, the brunette reminds himself) from their shells. After he’s pulled a number of them off, he smoothly minces them up into quarter inch pieces. 

Sandalphon stands behind him, looking torn. “But—”

“No buts.” Lucifer says firmly. “I promise I have everything under control. Why don’t you sit and take care of those blisters?”

“They’re just a few blisters.” Sandalphon mumbles. 

“And you know it won’t just be a ‘few blisters’ if you keep putting pressure on them.” 

"So what? A few blisters aren't going to kill me. I'm just helping you _cook_ , for god’s sake, not running a marathon!" He’s a millimeter away from breaking skin from how hard he’s been digging his nails into his palms for the past half hour. It didn’t help as much as he thought it did, but it’s a hard habit to break. He's still so weak. Pathetic. 

“Sandalphon.”

Before Sandalphon can respond, there are hands cupping his cheeks. His gaze is pulled upwards, right into eyes so impossibly blue that he’d spent a few months since their first meeting thinking Lucifer has his own sky inside of him. Lucifer leans forward until their heads touch, and Sandalphon inhales sharply. Between the two of them, Lucifer had always been the more affectionate one. Even in public, he's always the first to initiate contact, whether it be holding hands or kissing his cheek. Shameless is in his middle name, and while it took a long time before Sandalphon could come to terms with it, he still can't fathom how he could do it so _effortlessly_. 

“This is exactly what I've always adored about you — unyielding, determined to take on all that gets in your way. I've never met anyone more strong-willed, more amazing. But Sandalphon….” He breathes out. “It’s only the first day. If not for you, then for my sake. I want to spend the rest of our vacation together, and I want to cherish it with you in good health and wellness.”

The warmth of Lucifer’s forehead against his. The feather light touch of fingers on his cheeks, a hint of aromatics tickling his nose. The breath that curls on his skin, gentle heat passing through skin and bone, touching his soul. Sandalphon closes his eyes, subdued. “Alright. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Lucifer places a kiss on his brow, and suddenly it's not the limp that makes him struggle to stay upright. “Go rest. I’ll call you when it’s time for dinner.” And off he goes.

"Demon," Sandalphon grumbles to himself when he hobbles into their shared bedroom. "An absolute demon."

They’ve been together long enough for Lucifer to know all of Sandalphon's weak points, know exactly which buttons to press to get him to yield. Kill with love, drain him with touch. Lucifer is a wolf in sheep's clothing, shrewd and beautiful. Worst of all? Sandalphon can’t find it in himself to care.

The cooler change in temperature causes a shudder to run down his spine. Has it always been this cold? Weird. He turns up the heat before carefully lowering himself to the ground to begin rummaging through his belongings. There's a hint of shame when he glances at Lucifer’s luggage. Compared to Sandalphon, Lucifer is immaculate. All of his shirts are folded and pressed, arranged neatly in packing cubes. His toiletries are sealed, wrapped in thin plastic bags that are then wrapped in ziploc bags. Everything is clearly labelled and not a touch out of place. He's the epitome of organized and clean.

Sandalphon, on the other hand, is nowhere near as disciplined. When he opens his luggage, bundles of shirts and pants spill out generously. He’d stashed his necessities in between the gaps, pill bottles interspersed between several different small spaces. It takes him a hot minute to fish out his first aid kit under the pile of random electronics he threw in at the last minute, cursing when his hand inevitably gets tangled in a web of cords he forgot to knot together.

On second thought, maybe he should give himself some credit. Ever since they’d started dating a year ago, Sandalphon had made a conscious effort to be less cluttered. When they’d moved in together, he stopped leaving stacks of dirty plates in the sink and doing laundry on an as-needed basis. He went from thriving in chaos to keeping it more self contained. He’s not trying to gross Lucifer out, despite the latter’s insistence that he doesn’t mind.

He goes through the motions with mindless expertise— moleskin, antibiotics, gauze. He's lost count of how much he's done this back in the day. When his foot is wrapped up to his satisfaction, he throws himself on their bed. For some time, he contents himself with staring at the ceiling and listening to the fireplace crackling outside his door. 

Not too long after, he hears the front door open and the cheery voices of the girls wafting through the air. By the sounds of it, Lucifer had sent them out on an impromptu trip. Sandalphon huffs out a silent laugh. Lucifer had always been like this. He could come home with a whole month’s worth of groceries and still forget something basic, like butter or pepper. He’s so hopeless...

When he comes to, it’s to the sound of his name being called. He blinks, but the room is dark. Night has fallen, and he squints at his watch as it lights up. He’d slept for two hours. They call him again, and he groans, answering with a raspy, _“Coming!”_ before he painstakingly rolls out of bed, fumbling for the bedside lamp. It clicks on and floods the room with warm incandescent lighting. 

He yawns like the world depends on it, stretching his neck and back until he hears the joints move back into place with a satisfying pop. Still, it doesn’t do away with the lethargy coursing through every limb. He really didn’t mean to pass out, but the bed was so soft. Running a hand through his hair, he passes by the mirror in the room on his way out. It’s a full body mirror, nondescript and inconspicuous. For a split second, something seems off. Is he taller? No, he should have stopped growing a few years ago. Maybe this is one of those skinny mirrors he heard the girls on his campus rant on and on about?

He squints as he looks himself up and down. Plain, short, and grumpy. Nothing out of the ordinary. He must be more tired than he thought if he’s fantasizing about his own body. Still, if either Lucifer or the girls caught him checking himself out like this, he’ll never hear the end of it. 

When he trudges to the dining room, Hal and Mal catch sight of him first, and predictably, their faces twist. “Don’t say anything.” Sandalphon approaches, circling around them to wash his hands.

“Your hair,” Mal manages. “It looks like a bird’s nest.”

“Seriously! It looks like someone stabbed it with a fork, zapped it, and went super saiyan.” Hal chortles. “Ever heard of a hairbrush, Sandy?”

“Ever heard of minding your own business?” Sandalphon shoots back, heat flushing into his cheeks. It can’t be _that_ bad. “You guys are one to talk. Your hair sticks out in every direction like a sore thumb, and it’s _long_. I’m surprised it doesn’t get tangled up in whatever it is you guys do.”

“Aw, Sandy. This is in season! If you wanted sexy beach waves too, you should have just told us. We can give you a makeover, and maybe you won't be so cranky then.”

"I'll pass." He looks at the spread of food laid out in front of him. There’s the clam chowder that he had attempted to help Lucifer make, plus a number of assorted dishes they must have made while he was out. Artichoke, some type of carrot salad, fruit salsa with cinnamon chips, marinated chicken, cream cheese wontons, meringue tarts, and alcohol. “Damn, you guys really went all out.”

“We wanted to start off our vacation with a memorable dinner.” Lucifer smiles, and Sandalphon almost smiles back at him until he notices Lucifer’s looking at something further above him. “Did you have a good nap?”

His hand clamps down on the irredeemable nest on top of his head, and he opens his mouth to say something — but the next sound that comes out isn’t from his mouth, but his stomach. He sits down to a round of pealing laughter, which he promptly ignores. Who cares what they think of him? He's hungry, and nothing can stop him from piling food onto his plate. 

“Thanks for the food,” Sandalphon says after the mirth dies down, downing a glass of lemonade. The tangy liquid is sour, but it helps wake him up a little. “And it was okay. Honestly could do without one. It felt like I was sleeping for two millennia.”

“That’s a very specific number.” Lucifer remarks with a grin, helping the chattering girls reach for a plate that’s closer to him than the rest of them. 

“Cos’ it felt like two millennia.” Sandalphon grumbles, stabbing into his salad with a fork. It takes three attempts before it sticks; the second attempt nearly sends his fork clattering on the floor. Damn it. “You ever just take a nap and then wake up not feeling like yourself?” 

“I know what you’re talking about.” Mal nods sagely, a break in her conversation with Hal. “Last year, Hal and I went through the same thing.”

The blonde straightens, shooting Mal a look. “Pretty sure that’s not what he’s talking about.”

“I know, but why would I pass up the opportunity to talk about it?” Her eyes are sparkling when she addresses Hal. “Come on, Hal, can I? Can I?”

“Oh, brother.” Hal facepalms. “Do whatever you like.”

Sandalphon digs a nail into his index finger. “What are you two talking about?”

“Last year, when we came here, sometimes we’d sleep and wake up in different places. And before you say anything snarky, I don’t sleepwalk. I’ve never sleep walked my whole life, and neither has Hal.”

“Yeah, so imagine my surprise when we went to bed and I woke up the next morning in the wine cellar. The _wine cellar._ It’s a whole two stories down!” Hal declares, arms waving in the heat of the moment. “I went up and found Mal curled up out on the patio, even though I was sure we locked the door before we turned in for the night.”

“And you know me, I _despise_ the cold.” The raven-haired girl shivers. “If you don’t believe me, ask Lucifer. Right, Lucifer?”

“Yes.” Lucifer sighs, sullen over being inevitably dragged into the situation. “You’ve always taken winter especially hard compared to the rest of us.”

“Damn straight!" Mal chirps. "I had to be quarantined in front of the fireplace for about three hours before I could function like a normal human being again.”

“Yeah. I'm her human heater, and it still wasn't enough." Hal clutches a hand to her chest. "I don't think I'll ever get over the heartache."

"Oh, sweetheart. You know you're always going to be my number one heater in bed, and no lousy fireplace will ever match up to that!"

Lucifer clears his throat, and Mal backtracks instantly. "Sorry, sorry! Anyways, all I remember was that I felt really sore when I woke up that day. Like someone had used me to run laps or something. It was wild.”

Sandalphon scoffs. “It’s entirely possible you guys were drinking the night before. I don’t know if you realize this, but you guys don’t exactly hold your liquor well.”

“But we didn’t drink at all.” Hal chews on her steak, swallowing it before she talks again. “We came home late and then passed out right after.”

“There’s only one explanation for it.” Mal slowly sets her spoon down, folding her hands together before leaning forward. “This house is _haunted_.” 

“Mal.”

“Just think about it! Disembodied spirits of deceased lovers, longing to experience the vestiges of worldly pleasure once more before they inevitably move on to the afterlife." She clasps her hands together dramatically. "A tragic tale of love lost, of clinging to sorrow and despair, of seeking the sweet salvation of release.”

“Very funny.” Sandalphon deadpans. “I always knew you two were feather brained, but to omit this kind of detail up until now is a bit too much, don’t you think?” 

Mal’s smile is cheshire-like. “Aw, are you scared, Sandy?”

He’s not. But when he feels Lucifer’s hand fall on his, he feels the tension melt away slightly. “It’ll be okay.” Lucifer says, stroking comforting circles on Sandalphon’s hand. “The girls are still here, aren’t they? Besides, we have each other. As long as we’re together, we’ll be alright.”

“Yeah.” Sandalphon says slowly, mildly unconvinced. But he holds Lucifer's hand right back. “Right. Anyone want seconds?”

The dinner passes without much fanfare. Despite his warnings, they end up ingesting far more sugar than was deemed healthy thanks to all the desserts they'd prepared. He lets it go just for tonight. It _is_ a night of celebration, although the mountain of dishes they end up with is far more than any of them had bargained for. They spend a few minutes looking at each other with various levels of fidgeting dread, and Sandalphon sighs as he tugs on a pair of rubber gloves; neon pink inlaid with plastic gems and black frills, courtesy of the girls' outright garish taste. 

He shuts down Lucifer before he can even utter a single word — _“I’m standing in one spot. I’m not moving and you have nothing to complain about.”_ They compromise on Lucifer drying the dishes while the girls prance off to clean the table and take out the trash. 

They fall into a good rhythm, as Sandalphon notices whenever Lucifer is with him. Time flies, and he's so high off of adrenaline that he accidentally splashes water and suds in Lucifer's direction just as he hands him the last plate. He looks up to apologize, and stops dead in his tracks. There are suds on the tip of Lucifer’s nose and flecks on each cheek. They sprout up out of his hair like a colony of cloudy mushrooms. Sandalphon bites his bottom lip, trying to hold back the tremors threatening to erupt from his body. Lucifer blinks, confused, until he lifts a finger to his face and catches onto the revelation. 

He manages a little more than a shaky apology when Lucifer descends on his sides — he ends up in shrieking laughter, pleas of mercy going unheard as he tries to wriggle out of Lucifer's unrelenting grasp in vain.

Eventually, the girls return from their short stint outdoors, wondering what all the ruckus is. It doesn’t take long for them to join in. By the end, the kitchen is in a much worse state than even before they started cleaning, and there is more soap and water than there is dry land. 

This time, they laugh and roll up their sleeves. It's a memorable dinner, all right. 

* * *

Sandalphon wakes up the next morning to a dark room and Lucifer's hand on his shoulder. He gets up groggily, washes his face, and fumbles for his running shoes while Lucifer waits patiently at the door, already changed. The night before, they'd agreed that a vacation didn't mean slacking on morning exercise — Sandalphon can still feel the carbs and sugar weighing him down. 

They run together side by side, swerving through tree trunks and admiring the sunrise. Never too far from each other, feet beating on the concrete in tempo. Sandalphon cherishes these simple times the most — how the world is still only beginning to rouse, and there's just the two of them. When they kiss, Sandalphon wishes fervently for this moment to extend into eternity, with nothing but the warm pink and orange hues of sunrise as their audience. 

But, like all good things, the moment ends. Sandalphon can't ignore the sweat beading on his skin, the layer of moisture over his face. He needs a shower, and so does Lucifer. Lucifer lets him go, saying he'll get breakfast ready and wake up the girls while Sandalphon freshens up. It's times like these he thinks that they're more parents than they are friends, but that's bringing with it a train of thought that he's nowhere near ready to confront yet. 

He's opening the windows in their room when it happens. One second he's there, and the next, he's staring out the balcony, looking at Lucifer down below, kneeling over a patch of herbs with a basket and scissors in hand. He steps back slowly, surprised to find himself in the hallway instead of his room. Had he really been daydreaming for that long? Disgruntled, he heads back to the bedroom, eager to wash up and clear the fog from his brain. 

Just as he's about to enter his room, he hears giggling and whispering downstairs. The girls are never up this early. There’s a flash of long, silver hair when one of them skips by the stairs. 

He makes his way down the stairs slowly, pressing himself against the wall as he peeks over into the kitchen. The intruder is there, humming a tune as she blindly rummages through a cabinet. If Sandalphon strains hard enough, he can make out the words, although it was just the same word repeated over and over again, in fluctuating pitch. Some girl had broken into the house to ransack their kitchen for bean cakes? 

Another girl creeps up behind her, golden brown locks spilling over her shoulders as she shushes her and points to Lucifer out in the garden. 

When Sandalphon steels his resolve and turns the corner, everything starts blending together. One —he severely misjudges his own distribution of balance and goes sideways. Two —the voice that comes out of him is deeper, darker. Three —the girls spot him, and instead of fear or guilt at being caught unawares, their faces beam with recognition and delight, calling him— 

“Sandalphon?”

He blinks. He’s on the floor, looking up at two very concerned girls.

“You two…” Sandalphon trails off, then holds his head in his hands. “Oh god. Oh god, I’m going crazy.”

“You sure are! Did you hit your head or something, Sandy?” Hal says, but her voice is mired in awed stupor. “I’m shocked. You got good game.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and I’m not sure I want to know.” He groans, getting up to his feet. “I think I need to go lie down for a bit.”

“Already?” Mal pouts. “But you were in the middle of asking me how I liked my eggs in the morning. Are you just going to leave a cute girl hanging?”

Sandalphon looks at her like she’s grown an extra head. “The _fuck?”_

“If you don’t believe us,” Hal coos, sliding up to slot herself in place right next to Sandalphon, who stiffens. She holds up her phone. “Then take a look at this.”

Her phone shows a video taken less than 10 minutes ago of him suave in all his glorious sweat and nonexistent muscle, sauntering his way up to the counter as he leans forward to talk to Mal, who’d just woken up and stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of water. 

No, talking wasn’t the right word.

 _“Hey, gorgeous,”_ The thing shaped like him says, his voice dripping with something that makes Sandalphon’s skin crawl _._ His eyes, trained directly on something entirely inappropriate. _“There’s a nice view.”_

 _“...You good, there, Sandy?”_ Hal paused, bewildered.

 _“I’m afraid not. Something must be wrong with my eyes. I can’t seem to take them off you.”_ With Sandalphon’s mouth, the _thing_ blows her a kiss.

Sandalphon snatches the phone as it keeps on playing, horror spilling over as he frantically thumbs the screen short of throwing it across the room— fuck, why is it so _hard_ to find the fucking delete button?

Lucifer comes in right when the imposter talks about putting Hal on a to-do list for the day, and that’s when Sandalphon finally manages to send the video into oblivion. He stands there, shock-still as the girls proceed to rupture a lung beside him, Lucifer coming up close to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Not to worry, Sandalphon.” Lucifer begins, his voice strangely calm. “Your recent discovery of bisexuality is not a cause of concern. It is normal for men to experience panic and insecurity in relationships after they realize the scope of their preferences are broader than they had previously envisioned. But you are still the most important person to me, and that will never change.”

Someday in the far-flung future, perhaps he could look back on this day fondly — not as hysterically as the two girls currently doubling over on the ground, because he’s _civilized_ — but fond nonetheless. But for now, torn between a groundbreaking urge to scream or cry, to raze the entire house to the ground or fling himself into the far reaches of space, all he does is turn around silently to walk up the stairs.

At least his ensuing meltdown can't be heard over the shower steam. Later, when they ask what all that thumping was coming from, he’ll say the house is just haunted.

* * *

The second day’s hike is far easier, now that they vaguely know where the trail is. Past the rushing river and the rickety bridge spanning it, along the mud where what looks bright green cabbage juts out from the dark earth, through the steep rocky hills where telephone lines stretch long into the distance, to the flats of even grass, there they find their picnic spot. 

Lucifer spreads out a blanket under a sagging tree, then another atop it just in case the ground is wet. Hal plops the picnic basket on the floor, and Sandalphon unloads the cans of soda from his backpack. The noonday sun is just overhead, casting half the blanket in sun and the other in shade. Bulbous mushrooms are jutting out of the tree they’ve taken refuge under, orange and brown. It looks like there’s thorns sticking out of the caps. 

They’re so juicy that Sandalphon almost wants to take a bite out of it, or prick himself on one of the cap thorns, but then Mal pushes a sandwich under his nose. It’s one of the few he made, bologna and lettuce and tomato with cheese. He made the roast beef one Lucifer pulls out too and carefully unfolds from the basket. The girls giggle, feed each other, so blatant and embarrassing that Sandalphon wants to tell them to stop. But he wants to do that too, to be so shameless in his affection. 

Lucifer notices his smile, and gestures him closer, out of the bend of the shade. By Lucifer’s side, things are warm. Sunshine, gentle wind, tousled grass, laughter. 

Where they’re sitting, they can see where the grass bends under the beaten path. Sandalphon remembers going on a hike once, long ago, along a lake with white lotuses floating in the water. It was so long, and his feet hurt by the end, even if they weren’t on an incline. Along that, he’d see other hikers pass by with their dogs, some faster than him, some going the opposite way.

After the basket is empty and they head back down the mountain, no hikers pass them. 

* * *

The picnic that afternoon had leeched all the energy from their bones. They all agree to take it easy for the rest of the night. It’s Sandalphon’s turn to cook, so he dices up the vegetables and stir fries them to serve over steamed rice. Making it in such a large quantity is strange when he’s so used to making smaller servings for only himself. Before Lucifer, it had been a staple meal. It’s simple, but then he lays on the savory vegetable glaze that Lucifer had taught him to make and suddenly the dish is worth serving to family and friends.

_Family._

He pauses on the word, contemplating it. Maybe someday, Lucifer could be that to him. The possibility causes his heart to skip a beat. 

Again, he’s moving too fast, he needs to slow down, think straight. Scaring Lucifer away with the level of his commitment is something he cannot afford to do. In his head, he knows he isn’t worth Lucifer’s time, that what they have is too good to last forever. Things are fine the way they are now, better than fine; it’s better not to rock the boat. He’s happy, Lucifer is content.

It’s better to keep it that way.

* * *

As Mal closes the door to their room down the hall, he just manages to hear the last of Hal’s disappointed shrieks before they’re muffled to silence. Apparently the new game she purchased for her handheld gaming device is difficult; she’s been losing nonstop for the past forty five minutes.

When Sandalphon joins Lucifer at the bathroom mirror to brush his teeth, his chest squeezes with an unexpected wave of warmth. This is such a bland thing to feel worked up over, but this is something he didn’t have before Lucifer came into his life; routine. Maybe he still isn’t exactly to the level of consistency that Lucifer has achieved, it’s difficult when his schedule changes weekly with an even spread of openings and closing shifts. Lucifer, who wakes up at 5am sharp and starts to nod at 10pm regardless of weekday or weekend will always baffle him. 

When he watches Lucifer’s reflection splash water onto his face from the faucet through the bathroom mirror, he’s transfixed. It’s only when Lucifer smiles directly at him, an innocent, bashful flash of perfect white teeth, does he realize that toothpaste is dripping down his chin.

He is wholly and hopelessly in love. 

He scrubs at his face aggressively and washes behind his ears. They’re both the kinds of people who shower in the morning, but he still can’t sleep with all the grime from the day on him.

By the time he returns to the bedroom, Lucifer has curled up in bed. Sandalphon turns out the lights and slips under the covers beside him, not nearly as tired, but still more than willing to spend the rest of his waking time beside Lucifer. He feels Lucifer’s arm wrapping around him, guiding him closer until they are pressed flush together, front to front, in a tangle of limbs on the narrow bed. Sandalphon hugs Lucifer back, burying his face into Lucifer’s neck. 

“Did you have fun today?” Lucifer murmurs into his hair.

Sandalphon smiles against him, and runs a palm up Lucifer’s side. “I did. What about you? Did you like the picnic?”

A slight bob of Lucifer’s chin and an affirmative hum are all Sandalphon manages to get out before Lucifer is woefully swept away by the tides of sleep. He laughs silently to himself, charmed by how predictable Lucifer is. 

There’s another thirty or so minutes to go before Sandalphon can wind down enough to fall asleep so he lays there enjoying the warmth that Lucifer’s embrace provides. His eyes drift upwards to the mirror mounted on the wall behind Lucifer. Through it, he can see out through the large window into the woods below. Their combined shape moves under the sheets in the dark. It’s peaceful here. The soft sound of branches scratching against the window and the very distant churning of a bubbling stream is like a natural lullaby.

Earlier, he had a strange feeling about this house, but he knows that it’s irrational, a product of some subconscious anxiety. Try as he might, he can’t shake the feeling; can’t tear himself away from the mirror. They don’t feel like his eyes.

God, he is so much more exhausted than he realized, it’s like he hasn’t slept in days. His limbs feel exponentially heavier than they did a moment ago. Sleep doesn’t usually come easy to him, so who is he to deny himself rest?

* * *

When Sandalphon wakes, he squints blearily against the sunlight that streams through the rental’s open window. His eyes burn like he hasn’t slept a wink. With a loud groan, he pulls the blankets up over himself to block out the sunshine. A pounding headache stabs at the back of his right eye. _Please_ , he pleads with himself, _don’t let it be another migraine_.

“Good morning Sandalphon.” Lucifer greets him warmly.

“G’mornin…” The response comes out in a muddle, catching as it struggles to escape. His throat feels raw and his body aches like he’s been in a fight. A groan creeps out of his lungs and he convinces himself to poke his head out of the covers and roll over so that he’s facing Lucifer. “What time’s it?”

“It’s almost 9:30,” comes Lucifer’s reply and his fingers comb through Sandalphon’s hair. “The girls woke up late too, they’re just getting started on breakfast so there’s no rush.”

Lucifer sets his book aside and folds up his readers. Sandalphon’s eyes track his hand as it brushes a strand of brown hair away from his eyes. There are angry red marks on Lucifer’s wrists; the skin has been rubbed raw. 

“Lucifer,” Anxiety fills lungs like mouthfuls of salt water, “your arms. What happened? You’re hurt.”

“Ah.” Lucifer snaps to attention. “I might have gotten a little carried away. I probably should have asked you to loosen the restraints a little.” His response is simple and explains next to nothing. 

Restraints? All he sees are the ugly rope burns and the dark bruises on Lucifer’s collar bone. Someone had held him captive, someone had hurt him. Danger. He bolts up right, preparing to take on whatever did this to Lucifer. As soon as he sits up, he has to bite back a sharp hiss of pain as an ache hits him between his legs.

“Please, take it slow. You pushed yourself hard last night.” Lucifer’s hand is on his shoulder. “You should lay back down.”

“What are you talking about? What happened?” Sandalphon bites his lip, eyes darting downward to his shaking thighs. While he knows that he has to be sore from the hike, this is a different kind of ache. He can’t remember the last time he felt this uncomfortable. It must have been months since last he... oh god he hadn’t had he?

“You don’t recall?” A light blush colors Lucifer’s cheeks, sheepish.

“Tell me everything.” Sandalphon demands. “From the beginning.”

“...I had just fallen asleep when I awoke to you ah… touching yourself, and rather loudly at that. You requested that I help you. You were uh, very convincing.” Lucifer’s speech speeds up and his expression grows progressively more flustered as he continues his explanation. He’d allegedly woken from a dead sleep to the very explicit sound of Sandalphon loudly fingering himself, that he ‘couldn’t sleep’ because he had been ‘thinking of him’. They’d had sex last night and it was rough, rougher than anything else they’d ever done before. 

Sandalphon feels his blood run cold. It can’t be possible, he clearly recalls falling asleep. The fingernail tracks on his back through the mirror and the knotted paracord rope on the bedside table. There’s the ever present ache between his legs. The evidence is everywhere; Lucifer would not lie to him, so why can’t he remember? He had a few drinks with dinner, but surely he hadn’t had enough. 

“Sandalphon?”

“It’s nothing.” He dismisses. He's not going to worry Lucifer over nothing. 

* * *

Like it or not, they do still have plans for the day and if they don’t head down soon they will be missed. Sandalphon downs some Ibuprofen for his headache and steps into the shower to rinse off. When he gets out, he digs through his suitcase to find something with long sleeves and a high collar. Lucifer does the same, and by the time they’re done, the strong smell of breakfast wafts through the house. 

“I thought you were sure about your math?” Hal accuses from the kitchen. 

An airy giggle from Mal. “You double checked me, you know. I think a zero got misplaced.”

Hal and Mal have somehow made enough batter to feed at least a dozen starving people. The first batch is on the stove, but the rest sits in various mismatched bowls lined up on the counter. 

“Look who finally decided to get up.” Hal catches sight of him. “Make yourself useful and finish up here for us, won’t you?”

Sandalphon bristles and prepares to snap back, but Lucifer is faster. “It’s alright, I’ll take over from here. You three have a seat at the table.”

As the three of them make to sit down, Hal takes the opportunity to sit right next to him. Mal sits on his other side and the two of them stare at him expectantly. With a raised eyebrow, he glances between the two of them, unsure what they want from him.

Hal leans into him. “So the two of you were pretty loud last night. Did you guys have fun?”

Fire rises to Sandalphon’s cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Aww don’t be like that,” Mal pouts, “we heard the whole thing. Come on, give us the details.” 

Sandalphon puts his head down on the table and covers himself with his arms.

“Don’t tease Sandalphon.” Lucifer approaches the table, blissfully unaware of the conversation being had, and sets down a pair of plates in front of Mal and Sandalphon.

Hal waves him off. “You guys can’t just go at it at full volume and expect us not to listen. Actually, I don’t think we could have ignored it even if we wanted to. The walls here aren’t very thick, you know.”

Lucifer's mouth forms into a tight line as he regards the plate settings more intensely than necessary. 

Sandalphon peeks out of the fortress of his arms and watches as Lucifer’s mouth opens for a long moment and then closes again. With his eyes, he pleads silently with Lucifer to say something. Lucifer catches his gaze and steels himself. “I apologize for any trouble we might have caused you last night. It will not happen again.” 

“Apology accepted.” Mal nods solemnly as she pours a conservative amount of syrup on her pancake. For a moment, it seems that will be the end of that, but then Mal continues. “To be honest, I didn’t know you two had that kinda relationship. I always thought that you two were a little less adventurous. You’ve really got a pair of lungs, don’t you? I bet the neighbors up the hill even-“

“Can we please talk about something else?” Sandalphon snaps back, pushing Hal off of him before she gets too comfortable. She giggles as she falls back into her own chair.

“It looks like we have a few days of pancakes ahead of us.” Lucifer announces as he returns at just the right moment with the last two plates. One he places in front of Hal and the other is set at the empty place setting to the right of Sandalphon. “I’m sure there’s other recipes that make use of the same batter, we’ll have to do some research before breakfast tomorrow.”

“We could see if they have a waffle iron,” Sandalphon adds, desperate to call the girls attention to something else. 

Mal hums in agreement, “We brought chocolate chips up with us. We can sprinkle them into the batter too.”

“We can’t live off of only pancakes.” Hal gives the pair of them a hard look before cutting into her food. 

“You can’t, but I can.” Mal corrects her cheerily through a mouthful of food. “I don’t have a recital coming up.”

Lucifer joins them again with a plate of sliced strawberries and a jar of jam. As he sits down, Sandalphon straightens up and the pair of them begin to eat. 

Breakfast continues peacefully, until Hal rises to gather the dishes. As she steps behind Lucifer, her finger slips against his neck to prod at a dark bruise that peeks out just above his high collar. Lucifer startles and drops his fork, his face flushing a deep shade of crimson.

“Wow, he really did a number on you didn’t he?”

Sandalphon feels a similar heat color his cheeks as he slowly slides down in his seat, wishing he could just sink into the floor. 

* * *

Sandalphon’s a sore loser. 

When he sits down in front of a TV with a controller in hand, he would whisper sweet nothings to the console and ask the gaming gods to bless him with quick fingers and an indestructible bladder. He doesn’t mess around. 

Thanks to the… unfortunate circumstances Sandalphon was in, Mal suggests they spend the day inside and play the switch. They agree easily; Sandalphon a little less so, torn between a mix of relief and shame. 

Lucifer pulls him aside beforehand and tells him to go easy on the girls, especially Mal. “I don’t want you to make your wins too easy. Mal is a little sensitive with these kinds of games.”

Sandalphon pauses for a moment before beaming. “You think I’m that good?”

“You’re better than all of us combined.” Lucifer chuckles, tucking a hair behind his ear. “ _Geh aus, mein Herz, und suche Freud._ ”[1]

“Oh no, not a line from one of your fancy esoteric German poems again.” Sandalphon groans, but his grin is wide. “You know what that does to me.”

“After last night, I’m not sure that’s a good idea, _schatz._ ” [2] Lucifer shot back, and Sandalphon’s heart swelled. Lucifer didn’t tease very often, but when he did, the brunet couldn't get enough of it.

When he comes back to the living room, the switch is set up; a flashy menu screen and obnoxious music greet him.

“We’re playing Smash?” Sandalphon asks, making himself comfortable on the L-shaped sofa.

Mal’s grin is wicked. “To commemorate last night, of course. I’ll make sure not to bruise your tender bottom too hard.”

A furious red blush spreads across Sandalphon’s cheeks and, without another word, he takes up his controller. “Sorry, Lucifer. She’s going down.”

Lucifer sighs.

Half an hour later, Lucifer gives up after being defeated by the stages one too many times, unable to figure out how to float his way to safety. Hal follows soon after, complaining about how Sandalphon and Mal are just in a whole different league. And Sandalphon? He’s played games ever since he was small. Whenever he went to friend tournaments, he would always win. Always, without a doubt. 

Now, he’s in the middle of losing ten consecutive matches.

_Ten._

“ —Aaand that’s the eleventh win.” Hal smirks as she punts Sandalphon’s character into space and the words _GAME OVER_ flash across the screen. “Geez, am I just too good at this or do you just suck? Not to kinkshame you, but…”

“Stop yapping and start up the next round.” Sandalphon growls, and then leans over to Lucifer, whispering, _“What the hell?”_

Lucifer looks bewildered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— we’ve played together many times before, and I’m fairly certain she wasn’t this good.”

“She’s not.” Mal leans forward, placing herself right in between Lucifer and Sandalphon. Her voice is also low, contemplative, as she stares at her girlfriend, who’s fixated on the character select screen. “She’s never been this serious with video games before. I don’t think she’s touched this game since your birthday last year, Sandy.”

“Nonsense. She can’t just get good out of nowhere like that.”

“It is a little strange.” Mal flicks her hair over her shoulders. “She usually likes to crack jokes in the middle, and she’ll get bummed whenever she loses, but she’ll always bounce back right after.”

Mal might as well be talking about someone else. From the moment they started playing up until this point, Hal had been mostly keeping to herself, only speaking up to taunt Sandalphon or monologue about a character’s strengths and weaknesses no casual player would ever know about.

“Perhaps it’s the change of scenery.” Lucifer speaks, brows knitted together. “Sometimes being in a new environment can do interesting things to the head.” His gaze unintentionally shifts to Sandalphon.

Sandalphon’s cheeks are aflame. “No.” He doesn’t want to talk about this, especially with Mal right there _._ Even if it was just the air, he would still remember fucking himself raw.

Mal laughs, throwing an arm over Lucifer and Sandalphon, accidentally knocking their heads together. “Well, don’t worry too much about it! We’re here to have fun, and little things like this won’t ruin it.”

Mal, having finished choosing her character, looks up at them. “What are you guys laughing about?”

“Just about how much fun we’re going to have, babe. Isn’t that right, Sandy?” Hal nudges Sandalphon.

“Sure.” Sandalphon says, ignoring the lump in his gut, the telltale ache in his nether regions. “You ready?”

He’s just being a sore loser.

* * *

Soft laughter, drifting across their floor. If he didn’t have his music’s volume down, then he’d have missed it altogether. Prying out one earbud, he cranes his neck towards the sound. Muffled, like some hidden secret. Lucifer is downstairs, reading a book in one of the armchairs in the living room, and Sandalphon gets to his feet. 

The girls’ room is down the hall, and he can see their door from his own, slightly ajar with the midday light creeping out onto the wooden floor. The floorboards are sturdier than the ones downstairs and don’t creak under Sandalphon’s weight. 

“You should knock,” Hal turns her nose up at him. 

Maybe he should have, but he knows the two of them know how to keep their privacy if they really didn’t want to be disturbed. “You were being loud,” he lies. “What were you doing?”

The two girls look at each other, guilty. “We were trying stuff on,” Hal says. “It’s fun to see what we packed.” Hal’s in something peach-colored and gauzy, something that would snag on trail branches, and shorts that would leave her legs scuffed by brambles. 

“Come on!” Mal bumps shoulders with Sandalphon. “Don’t I look great?” She has on a black sleeveless dress with a golden sash around her waist. Golden polka dots spot the skirt, and on her chest is a rose made of folded ruffles. It’s nice, he supposes. He never really paid attention to what he or anyone else wore, not unless it was the neatly pressed button-ups Lucifer wore with ease. As for his own taste, big and baggy, less skin the better. Whatever on his top could be covered with a sweater, and whatever was below could be covered with leggings. But Mal, she’s glittering at him expectantly, awaiting an answer. Doesn’t she know that he doesn’t know what’s good and bad about clothes?

“I—” Sandalphon starts, but Mal has already started skipping downstairs. When he follows after her, she’s twirling around Lucifer’s chair. “Look at my new dress! Don’t I look nice?”

Lucifer watches her through his readers, placing his book face down, pages split as a temporary bookmark. “You do.”

Mal turns, her dancer’s body lithe and moving effortlessly. She could balance en pointe, he’s seen her pull it off on stage. She’s much clumsier now, but she’s full of energy as she bounces around. Hal’s footsteps drum down the stairs as she chases after Mal into the back room where the pool table is. They’d gone on a hike yesterday and they still have enough motivation to run. 

Sandalphon stares wordlessly after them, then makes his way to Lucifer. “Someone got into the espresso,” he grumbles.

Lucifer stares after the girls, lips punctuated with wordless thought. “I thought she’s had that dress for a few years now. Maybe I’m mistaken?”

“Maybe. Who knows.”

Hands in his pockets, Sandalphon looks down at Lucifer, in a knit sweater with the sleeves just a little too long, down to his knuckles. His red-rimmed reading glasses are slightly down his nose, and it’s too good of an image not to immortalize. Out comes Sandalphon’s phone, and he snaps a picture. 

Lucifer turns to him, sighing long and hard. “I don’t look my best right now.”

“Nonsense,” Sandalphon cracks a slight grin. 

With a swift exhale, Lucifer folds his glasses and tucks them onto his collar. His phone comes out, aimed at Sandalphon. Sandalphon yelps, stepping back, but Lucifer chides in that smooth easy tone of his, “Come now, it’s only fair.”

“Not now!” Sandalphon’s hair is messy from lying down, and he looks like he’d just woken up from a long nap. Not picture material, especially not for Lucifer’s phone! But as he flails, waiting for the moment to be over with, the click of the shutter never comes. 

Lucifer stares at the phone with a strange hollowness, as if he’d forgotten how to use it. “Lucifer?” Sandalphon asks, and when Lucifer looks at him, his eyes are empty of expression. Did he do something wrong? “Is everything okay?”

Lucifer’s mouth parts. “Yes,” he says, definitively. 

Sandalphon’s brow furrows in confusion. He checks his sweater for any stains, finding none. He’s about to strip it off to check the backside, but the girls bound back into the room. “We’re thirsty!” Mal exclaims, enough energy to recharge Sandalphon’s phone and then some. “Can you make us something to drink?”

“We’re saving the beer for dinner,” Sandalphon reminds them. But there’s something they always have. “Lucifer, why don’t you make some coffee?” 

Lucifer blinks, slow, then stands. “Coffee,” he mutters, and makes his way into the kitchen. 

Sandalphon makes to follow him, but turns sharply on his heel when Mal digs out a bag of apricot cookies from the cabinet and plops them down on the table. “Before dinner?” he exclaims, rushing over. 

Hal sighs, shaking her head. “I told her not to eat so much, but she never listens to me.”

Mal already has three cookies in her hand and two in her mouth. “They’re so good!” she chirps. 

Sandalphon nibbles on one himself. “Isn’t your recital coming up?”

“Yeah?” she says, mouth full. 

Well, she’d know her limits better than him. At least Mal’s right, coffee and cookies would be a nice combination. The rich aroma blooms as the coffee brews through the coffee maker— usually unheard of for Lucifer, but acceptable to make something in a hurry. They’ll have time to make a proper batch come morning. 

Lucifer brings them all cups, and Sandalphon inhales the scent. He takes a sip, and, and— and it’s thin, far too strongly flavored. Oh god, is this _instant?_ The girls don’t seem to care, but he nearly spits the drink back into his cup. “Did you make instant? Where did you even find instant?”

“The cabinet,” Lucifer bluntly replies.

The girls left the coffee up to their discretion, so it must be some of the supplies that the home owner left in the house for their stay. Still, they specifically brought five different blends, spent hours deciding which ones would be good for the girls to try. Lucifer, who introduced Sandalphon to more than chain cafe coffee, who cares enough about the drink to drag him to coffee fairs— would never think to go for instant. “Why not use some of the Erste beans?”

Lucifer clicks his tongue. “Variety is important once in a while. Surely you aren’t so inflexible that you can’t try new things?”

Sandalphon can barely find his words. Lucifer is chiding him, and Lucifer never chides him so harshly. But Lucifer is the expert, who knows far more about coffee than Sandalphon. Sandalphon stares into the mug, at the flavor monstrosity below. Maybe he is being stubborn. If Lucifer can try new things, then there’s no real point in arguing to not do so.

Reluctantly, he takes another sip. God, it’s awful. It’s awful all the way down. 

* * *

Lucifer is already in bed when Sandalphon returns from his quick trip into town. The girls had demanded they make a bonfire the following night and thankfully there are rules about going out and cutting wood without a permit. He’s much more willing to spend an extra few bucks than raise an axe himself.

“Welcome back.” Lucifer responds and his eyes slide up from between the pages of his book to follow Sandalphon. He’s still working his way through the novel he brought. Sandalphon is unfamiliar with it, but it must be good based on how often Lucifer has his nose buried in it. From the looks of it, he’s already over halfway done. 

Sandalphon crawls up next to him and buries his face into Lucifer‘s neck, just decompressing. Lucifer runs a hand through his hair and kisses the top of his head. He wraps an arm around Sandalphon.

Dim yellow lamp light casts a soft shadow on the underside of Lucifer’s jaw. Lucifer’s adam’s apple bobs as he hums his wordless response to his name. The top few buttons of his nightshirt are undone. The bruises on his neck and chest still stand out so clearly against his pale skin. Was it his imagination or were they getting darker?

A laugh forces its way out of his throat. It sounds wrong, unnatural. “...It might just be me, but there’s something that’s felt off ever since we got here. I can’t put my finger on it.” 

“How so?” Lucifer’s eyes never leave the page. 

Sandalphon’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t want Lucifer to think he’s crazy, but it’s becoming harder to ignore his gut. The missing spots in his memory and the strange daydreams were one thing, but he’d hurt Lucifer, and the worst part was that he couldn’t even remember doing it. 

_What state of mind had he been in then? Would it happen again? Would it be worse next time?_

“I just… I have a really bad feeling.” The words come out muffled against Lucifer’s side. Maintaining a calm, even tone is starting to become more of a struggle. His mind concocts more horrible explanations for his lapses in memory and abnormal behavior; for the eyes he’s felt on his back since arriving.

It isn’t fair, why his past always seems to come back to haunt him at the worst times. He came clean and left that life behind him, so there’s no good reason for the paranoia he feels. The steady part of his mind knows that he is safe here; that Lucifer is safe here. 

Lucifer is good; too good for someone like him. He can’t know what a wreck Sandalphon is. God, why does it feel like if he looks away for too long Lucifer will slip right through his fingers? 

“Sandalphon.” Lucifer draws his attention back with his low, even voice and a light touch against his back. Sandalphon had been so caught up in his spiraling thoughts he hadn’t noticed when Lucifer had slipped a bookmark between the pages and set the novel aside.

 _Lucifer is good._ Sandalphon repeats the words to himself like a mantra as he tightens his grip around Lucifer’s waist and casts his eyes downward. Sometimes, he is almost too bright.

“Ignore me. I’m being dumb.”

“You’re not. If this is about the other night, I told you that I didn’t mind.” He can hear the subtle shift in Lucifer’s tone as he attempts to comfort him. The hand rubbing soothing circles into his back feels wrong. Lucifer is the victim here, not him. “I’m glad that you felt comfortable trying something like that with me. I’m proud of you for taking the step and voicing the direction that you want our relationship to take.”

This is not the direction he thought the conversation was going. “W-what are you talking about?”

“You were… very forward about your desires. It was actually a little exciting.” A light pink blush colors Lucifer’s bashful face and this time it’s him who isn’t able to meet Sandalphon’s eyes. “I had no idea that you wanted to try out new things in the bedroom. Had I known that’s what you wanted I would have suggested it much earlier. Your needs in this relationship are equally as important as mine are.” 

“Lucifer…” The right words escape Sandalphon. “There’s nothing wrong with what we were doing before.”

Lucifer shakes his head and his glasses start to slip down his nose. He doesn’t move to fix them. “I’m not insinuating there was anything wrong, but if you’ve changed your mind about our unspoken arrangement and prefer to receive, then I am more than happy to take turns.”

“No,” Sandalphon answers too quickly in an attempt to combat the ice cold dread that fills his lungs. He has to catch himself, remind himself that he is speaking to Lucifer. “Unless, that’s what you want, but what makes you say that? I thought you preferred it this way?” This really isn’t the conversation he wants to be having right now.

“I do.” Lucifer meets his gaze, his expression taking on an air of seriousness. Clear blue eyes scan his face carefully, as if searching for some indication that he isn’t being truthful. Eventually Lucifer relents. “Alright, I trust you. I want you to trust me too.”

“I do trust you,” Sandalphon reaches out and grasps Lucifer’s hand, “with all my heart. I love you.”

“Sometimes, those things are not synonymous.” Lucifer casts his gaze downward to where their hands join. 

“Lucifer…”

“I apologize,” He shakes his head and smiles, “I think I went the wrong direction with all of this.”

“No, this is my fault.” Sandalphon raises their joined hands to his lips and kisses Lucifer’s knuckles. “I guess I went and made things confusing. Let me make it up to you.”

“Oh?” Lucifer pauses, confused, but then Sandalphon’s free hand presses against the inside of his thigh and he is confused no longer. “ _Oh._ ”

“Only if you want to.” 

A sheepish look crosses Lucifer’s face. “I do, but we’ll have to be quiet. I don’t think Hal and Mal would appreciate being kept up two nights in a row.”

With permission given, Sandalphon climbs on top of Lucifer, straddling his hips with his thighs. “Hey, I can keep it down when I need to. Last night was weird, I don’t know what came over me, so it hardly counts.”

“I know, I know.” Strong hands steady Sandalphon’s hips as the pair of them awkwardly shift themselves over to the center of the bed. “You might not believe me, but I actually did enjoy some of the things you tried out quite a bit. I don’t think it would hurt to try that again sometime.”

“I almost regret that I don’t remember any of it.” Sandalphon sighs as he gets to work on the buttons of Lucifer’s night shirt, sliding it off his shoulders. Lucifer assists him where he can, following where Sandalphon leads until he lays with his back against the mattress in nothing but his undergarments. With his knee, Sandalphon wedges himself between Lucifer’s thighs. “You’re going to have to remind me sometime- but not now. I think we should just stick to the usual if you’re still good with that.”

A small squeak of surprise jumps out of Lucifer’s throat at the direct contact. He composes himself quickly. “Yes… I have no objections.”

Energy compels him onward. He plants a hand in the sheets on either side of Lucifer’s face, leaning down to kiss him. Lucifer looks good from every angle, but there’s something special about looking at him up close. 

“How about a massage?” Sandalphon suggests.

“That would be wonderful.” 

Sandalphon moves back just long enough for Lucifer to turn over then he moves to straddle him. A soft kiss is planted against the back of his neck and he rubs Lucifer’s shoulders. He works his way down slowly, with careful attention to the knotted muscles. Lucifer hums his appreciation. “Sandalphon… mmm that feels good.” Underneath Sandalphon’s palms, Lucifer starts to unwind. There’s a patch of pink on the back of Lucifer’s neck. He must not have applied sunscreen properly there before the hike. Silently, Sandalphon reminds himself to double check next time. 

His hands trail lower and lower until he feels Lucifer tense beneath him. It’s hard to fight against the smile that spreads across Sandalphon’s face as he slides Lucifer’s undergarments down his thighs. The cold night air sends a shiver down Lucifer’s spine. 

The lube is sitting out in plain sight on the bedside table. Sandalphon snatches it up before thinking too hard about why that is and applies it generously to his fingers. “Alright, deep breaths,” is the warning he gives Lucifer as he spreads his cheeks apart and presses a finger between them. Lucifer’s chest expands as he takes a deep breath, and silver hair fans out like a halo around him. He hugs the pillow to himself and he whimpers at the intrusion. 

“Easy now, relax. You’re doing so good. Spread your legs for me a bit more.” Lucifer attempts a nod of acknowledgement into the pillow. With a better angle, Sandalphon pushes the finger deeper until it sinks in past the second knuckle. 

Lucifer’s voice is a harsh whisper. He has always been overly conscientious of being overheard. It’s cute, and probably for the best, considering what they had supposedly put the girls through.

Sandalphon pushes another finger into him, wiggling it alongside the other. He can feel Lucifer slowly relax as he grows accustomed to the sensation. This is far from their first time doing this, but Sandalphon is always careful. For Lucifer, he takes his time; does things right.

Lucifer moans softly and his hips lift off the bed back into his knuckles. Sandalphon curls his fingers downward in the direction of Lucifer’s stomach and god, he can feel every muscle tighten around him. In long, slow, rhythmic strokes, he drags the pads of his fingers against Lucifer’s walls. He knows exactly where to hit, but that much direct stimulation would end things too quickly. Lucifer needs the chance to enjoy this. 

Sandalphon takes advantage of Lucifer’s raised hips to snake a free hand around to Lucifer’s crotch. As Sandalphon takes the other’s cock up in his fist, he feels his own voice, low and surprisingly confident, escape from behind his lips. He hasn’t even touched himself and his boxers already feel uncomfortably tight. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel good. I can take more.” Lucifer is honest, always honest. “I’m ready for you.”

“Are you sure?” The question is redundant, but Sandalphon asks anyway. Lucifer knows his limits as well as Sandalphon does, but he can’t help himself but tease. 

Lucifer shifts his head to the side in order to look back at Sandalphon. The plea alone that shines in his eyes is enough to make Sandalphon melt, but then Lucifer speaks and he is powerless. “Please, Sandalphon, I want you.” 

No matter how many times Lucifer assures him, he always feels relief hearing that Lucifer desires him in the same way; that their feelings are mutual. He withdraws his fingers. “Okay, can you roll over for me?”

There’s hardly a second of delay before Lucifer obeys and rolls onto his back. Another half a heartbeat later, Sandalphon clambers back between his legs. 

“Sandalphon…” Lucifer’s hand is against his thigh, his pointer finger hooked around the band of his leggings, “take your clothes off.”

A deep scarlet flushes on his cheeks. Despite everything, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to being naked in front of Lucifer. He doesn’t like how vulnerable it makes him feel; how small Sandalphon looks beside him. “One sec,” he says, pulling his shirt off over his head. Shimmying out of his leggings and boxers is a much clumsier process on his knees, but he manages somehow. Lucifer watches him with nothing but warmth and understanding. It would be impossible for anyone to not feel a little weak in the knees.

Quickly, he snatches the lube back up and coats himself in the cold slippery substance. “Ready?”

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation. 

Lucifer’s eyes squeeze shut and he rolls his head back as Sandalphon meets the welcoming heat. The pressure is intoxicating. Consciously, Sandalphon has to remind himself to hold back.

“How are you feeling?” The question comes out a little more strained than he intends.

Lucifer smiles, a sweat has broken out on his brow. “Keep going.”

Sandalphon strokes a hand against Lucifer’s brow, wiping the sweat away. Lucifer is already panting from the strain, his queue to take a less direct approach. He pulls himself back and rocks himself in and out slowly, giving Lucifer’s body the chance to acclimate to the motion. It doesn’t take long. Soon he’s able to ease in deeper; soon he feels Lucifer rocking back into him.

Sandalphon groans. Lucifer squeezes him so tight, it takes everything in him to avoid being too rough.

“You‘re doing so good.” Lucifer cups a hand around the back of his neck and presses a kiss to his forehead. “You don’t have to hold back anymore.” Sandalphon nods and guides Lucifer’s legs to rest on his shoulders. Their pace becomes stronger, steadier. He kisses Lucifer every time he gets in range of his mouth and when it’s not his lips it’s whatever else that he can reach. 

He wraps his free hand around Lucifer’s cock and he pumps him steadily until Lucifer is unable to keep his voice down any longer. Sandalphon swallows the rest of his words with his lips. “I know, don’t hold back,” Sandalphon assures him as he focuses his attention at the head of Lucifer’s cock. Their lips meet again and with a few more thrusts, Lucifer tightens up around him, his moans spilling out into Sandalphon’s mouth. 

As soon as he’s able to, Sandalphon pulls himself out. “Hold tight for a bit ok? I’m gonna finish up in the bathroom and then I’ll help you wash up.”

“Wait, Sandalphon.” Lucifer stops him, catching his wrist. ”Let me...” 

Sandalphon catches his lip between his teeth. He has half a mind to stop Lucifer as he removes the condom and discards it, but he doesn’t. Even as Lucifer pulls him back down on top of him with his knees framing Lucifer’s face, he bites his tongue. Normally, they were careful. Normally, Sandalphon wouldn’t let Lucifer do something like this without cleaning up first. From the moment Lucifer meets his eyes and presses a kiss to the head of his cock, Sandalphon feels his self control unravel. Lucifer’s mouth is wet and warm and so very inviting. Lucifer draws Sandalphon further into him as he runs a velvety tongue against his length. 

Already this close to the edge, Sandalphon isn’t able to stop his hips from shaking, from thrusting himself further into Lucifer’s mouth. Broad, strong hands grip the backs of his thighs, coaxing him deeper until he can feel himself thrusting against the back of Lucifer’s throat. Lucifer’s eyes flutter shut and he moans around him.

It’s too much. It’s too much.

Before Sandalphon topples over the edge, he jerks his hips back, withdrawing and letting himself go. Faintly, Sandalphon realizes that his mouth is forming words, that the air in his lungs is giving those words volume, but he’s too far gone to even understand what he’s saying. All he knows is his own tightening muscles and the euphoric feeling of release that sends him spiraling through the clouds. 

As he touches back down, in his moment of haste, he realizes, he misjudged something important. Lucifer blinks back up at him, eyes blown wide. Sticky white liquid streaks his perfect face. Horror dawns on Sandalphon. “Oh god- Lucifer I’m so sorry!” It’s all he can manage before he’s scrambling off of Lucifer and helping him to his feet.

“It’s all right.” Lucifer assures him as Sandalphon loops an arm around him, supporting him on their walk to the bathroom. There’s a single wooden stool stationed by the vanity that he sits Lucifer down at. 

“I can’t believe I did that.” Sandalphon fusses over him with soap, water, and a damp cloth. “I wasn’t thinking.”

A grin splits Lucifer’s face. “I have a set of functional arms and a pair of legs that work as well.”

Sandalphon huffs and shushes him. “This is my fault, I should take responsibility.”

Lucifer doesn’t move to stop him. “At least let me brush my teeth myself. I can’t imagine that will be easy to do as a pair.” He wraps an arm around Sandalphon’s waist and draws him in close. Lips press gently against his chest, planting a kiss over Sandalphon’s heart. It’s like a hole being punctured in an inflatable pool. He exhales slowly, letting his shoulders relax and arms wrap around to cradle Lucifer’s head. 

“I love you.” Lucifer speaks the words into his flesh; soothing his racing heart with them.

Sandalphon threads his fingers through downy white hair. “I love you too.”

After they finish up in the bathroom, the pair of them crawl back into bed. A satisfying exhaustion creeps over Sandalphon’s eyelids as he situates himself back in Lucifer’s arms. It's not long at all before the soft sounds of sleep whistle out through Lucifer’s parted lips. Sandalphon holds their intertwined hands to his chest, he thinks that there’s nothing that he wouldn’t do for Lucifer.

Nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missing tag: bisexuality
> 
> 1Geh aus, mein herz, und suche freud = "Go forth, my heart, and seek delight."  [ return ]  
> 2Schatz = "Treasure"  [ return ]  
> 


	2. Sunday

There’s one image that Lucifer remembers from his childhood: a man sits serene in the middle of a fire. His clothes haven’t snagged the fire, but the room has, alight with red-orange flames that have eaten away at the carpet, the windows, the wooden cabinets, the wallpaper. He doesn’t recall exactly where he saw it, maybe it was a snapshot of a show or movie on TV, or a video screen passing by in a museum. All he remembers is the picture, standing there before it fascinated, watching as the fire got closer to the man, but he never moved, and he never burned. Trepidation in his mouth, he stood with his feet rooted as he marveled — what he’d give to have the resilience of that man, to sit in fire and never worry. 

The weekdays, he’d drive home from campus, hands on the steering wheel, white noise in his ears. He can give advice to the students that shuffle into his office looking for clarity or a lifeline, but sometimes he wonders, is it enough? What can he really do? He was always told he’s a kind soul, he can help people. Be mindful, but how he struggled with his limits. It’s not his responsibility, whatever his patients do, good or bad, but the guilt still itches in the back of his mind. Can he actually know someone well enough to understand them? 

Worries chased him during the weekdays. And Sandalphon, a gust of wind to blow the clouds of worry away. Sandalphon sees Lucifer, Sandalphon _wants_ Lucifer, all the quirks and concerns and doubts that comes with him. He would stumble, and Sandalphon would be there, his grip calloused and warm, snug around Lucifer’s hand. He is the one person in the world that Lucifer wants to spend all of his peace with. 

Lucifer always rises with the birds. Sandalphon prefers to keep the windows shut and the blinds pulled tight, but Lucifer keeps the curtains slightly ajar to get a slice of sunlight in the morning. Without the morning avenue traffic to wake him up, he almost forgets where he is. The silence reminds him: the peaceful countryside, the low strum to the stream rushing by. What a dream. 

Careful not to wake Sandalphon or the girls, Lucifer slips out of bed and turns the bathroom tap as quietly as possible. He prepares a small bag with a bottle of water, some snack bars, binoculars, and a bird nature guide. It’s been a long, long time since he was last able to go to the park and do some bird watching.

Of course, Sandalphon doesn’t like being an early riser unless he’s on the clock, and he’d end up being sulky and grumpy for a few hours if Lucifer tried to get him to come with him. He knows, he’s weathered plenty of failed attempts before. 

The stairs squeak under his feet in betrayal. There were a lot of dense trees midway through the mountain, he can park his spotting scope on one of the rock formations off-trail and settle in for a few hours. He stops before the full length mirror by the door, adjusting the fishing hat on his head. 

The world swirls, nausea. 

Something is pressing up against the length of his back, but it's soft and not the hardness of the wooden floor. Above him, latticed wood. He breathes, and a stabbing ache, a sharp pain right below his ribs like someone slid a thin blade right between his bones. Breathing was constant momentum, something Lucifer never had to think of doing, but now it feels like he has to remember every single step in order to gulp in a breath. Pain blooms, but he grits his teeth and pushes himself up. 

The softness is a mattress, the lattice is a ceiling, and he— a phone slips from where it was perched on his chest and slides onto the floor with a clatter. Lucifer's phone case is a plain navy blue, but the one on the floor is black. Between the pain, his body feels weighed down, even if his wrists are thin— why are they so thin?— and nothing is right. He knows how his body feels, even at its clumsiest and most awkward, and this isn't how he usually feels. Sleeves are red knit, and not the checkered thin blue cotton he put on. And wherever he is, this isn't a place he's ever seen before. 

A basement den, from how the light streams through from the windows perched by the top of the ceiling. His hand is tight around a bed frame, but it’s part of a fold-out sofa bed instead of a proper one. All around there are shelves stacked with books and in the corner, a large computer setup that’s more complicated than anything Lucifer’s ever come upon. A beating heart of wires, pulsing behind monitors and thrumming behind the desk, across the floor to towers that groan themselves. Colored post-its are stuck all along the edges of the monitors, notes printed in tiny handwriting. 

Before he can move to the computer, a steady flow of breath. Each inhale feels like rolling a rock uphill, but this isn’t the worst Lucifer has pushed through. Sitting still lets him force his concentration into recording this sensation until the sharpness dulls under normality. Lucifer isn’t used to moving with pain, but he channels strength into his arms and pushes himself off the bed. 

The monitor doesn’t turn on when Lucifer hits the keys. It flickers in the dim light, then asks for a password he doesn’t know. He types in a few of the passwords he uses for his many accounts, and they’re all rejected. The post-its are either yellow or blue, with print so neat it looks like it was typed out on a computer. 

A tidy stack of notebooks is by the keyboard, the topmost one slightly ajar with a pen stuck between the pages by the spine. A hunting knife is pressed up next to the keyboard, the blade shining vibrantly in the cold light. Lucifer opens it and finds lines of what looks like lines of code, with some scribbles in the margins. One one page at the top corner is _neurologist, 12:05,_ and at the bottom of another is what looks like a grocery list: _bay leaves, potatoes, peaches, mint chocolate bars (x3)._ The peaches are underlined twice, and beneath that, _drain repair, tell Belial_. 

A door creaks from the top of the stairs, and floorboards squeak in the descent. Lucifer hears them, but his brain is swarming with pain and confusion that he doesn't register turning around until he hears, dark and sultry, "Up and about already?"

“Sandalphon?” Lucifer asks before he can stop himself. The stranger isn’t shaped like anyone he knows, curvaceous to his own sharp angles. Shirt casually loosened, a few buttons deliberately missed to show off his chest, enough that Lucifer thinks it would be right to look away for the sake of the stranger’s modesty. _Danger,_ breathes Lucifer in the inhale, and _Safety_ in the exhale. 

The man sees Lucifer staring bewildered and laughs at him. He comes up close, and Lucifer can't remember the last time someone was half a head taller than he was. His stare is sharp but confident as he takes Lucifer’s hand in his own. Lucifer breathes out his surprise; he'd thought the stranger would be rough, but he handles Lucifer gently. "I think you're still a little dazed. Your nap was that bad, huh?" He was in a bed before. He might have just been resting. "Or," the man touches Lucifer's chin, no lighter than a feather, "are you still half asleep?"

"I—" Lucifer starts, caught off guard by someone else so firmly in his presence, "I was feeling nauseous. Then maybe I fell, and—"

The stranger nods, understanding. "You think you’ll be ready in a few? I'll be upstairs."

Lucifer doesn't know if he's ready, but he looks around the room once more. Nothing to indicate anything ready to go, nothing but a black jacket draped over the back of a swivel chair. There’s three pairs of slippers and a pair of boots at the bottom of the staircase, laces untied with clean soles. Fear jolts Lucifer at the thought of sitting down and losing his breath again, so he struggles to slip the boots on while he balances like a flamingo. It doesn’t work out too well, not with his legs as spindly and off-balance as they are. 

Out of the basement, Lucifer’s struck with deja-vu. A room with windows on nearly all sides, a pool table parked in the corner but missing a ping-pong table on the right. Outside of there, a gathering of chairs and couches with different cushion coverings but the same arrangement. Laughter echoes down from upstairs, two women chatting about something Lucifer can’t make out. Sitting at the wooden table right by the open kitchen is the stranger, who’s putting on a pair of thick steel-toed boots. "Are you ready to go?"

Lucifer is so caught off guard that, "Go where?" comes out stiffer than he intended. 

"Out. Don’t worry, I brought the goods." He pats the large backpack that’s so full of something it’s nearly bursting, and heaves it onto his shoulders. He leads Lucifer out onto a porch that's familiar, into an expanse that's familiar; same old stream, faded green shed, red chicken coop, old campfire circle. Dark wood looms down around Lucifer, the house watching and judging him. 

He doesn’t want to ask the stranger where they’re going, not when he’s walking so sure and confidently. It’s not right when Lucifer’s the one with a muddled head and a storm full of questions. Especially not when he can barely put one foot in front of the other without his breath snagging. As the tallest of the group and an avid jogger, he’s used to his strides reaching further, but now he has to be slow and careful. The stranger walks close to his pace, but Lucifer can tell it’s not his natural stride. He’s slowing himself down so that Lucifer can keep up. 

Once they’re on the hiking trail, Lucifer feels the burden of his own body. “You can go ahead if you want.” If they’re going up the same trail Lucifer went on with the group, then all this pain and slowness is going to multiply tenfold. It would be unfair to his strange companion, who’s taking so much care to not leave him behind.

“You’ve got plenty of stamina, don’t you? I’m sure you can go this round.” The hand around Lucifer’s waist speaks seduction, but it eases him forward, pushing his back straighter so that he’s slouching less. The wind rustles the stranger’s dark hair, and his eyes tinge red in the sunlight, and Lucifer thinks of his one and only love. 

Their hike up the mountain is far slower than Lucifer’s run the day before. Always his breath fails him, and it comes out wheezing, even before the ground really starts to incline. But always the stranger is patient, and they take frequent breaks, by a felled stump torn honey-colored by termites, along raised roots that form makeshift stairs, beneath a toppled tree held aloft by broken tree branches. This body is torture. No way Lucifer would be able to go jogging, much less bird watching like this. “Evidently I’m out of shape,” he squeezes out. They haven’t even gone a quarter of the distance he covered with the group yesterday, but his body is rooted in place.

“First time in five months. Garden doesn’t count.”

Lucifer’s breath is a rattle, and the stranger opens his bag, pulls out a thin tube and wraps it around his arm. Out of one of the side pockets comes a small plastic square that the stranger clips to Lucifer’s finger. When numbers come up on the tiny screen, the stranger nods as if he’d expected the results, and unravels the tube, snaking it around Lucifer’s ears and securing the protruding nodes into his nostrils. Through the open jaw of the bag, Lucifer sees the metallic shine of an oxygen tank. The sun hides behind a strip of cloud, and Lucifer swallows down his first inhale. 

Breathing comes easier, slowly. The stranger takes out a protein bar and chews on it, watching the subtle rise and fall of Lucifer’s chest. 

“You’re quite skilled.” There was no fumbling, just the ease of a medical professional who’s done the same thing many times before.

“Using my degree for good.”

A degree! What Sandalphon would be with a title to his name. Lucifer laces his fingers across his knees. “But is it not misconduct to be with a patient?”

“Are you complaining?” The stranger waggles his eyebrows, leaning forward. “I’m worth someone breaking the rules for.”

Chewing his lip, Lucifer falls silent. He has always opened his arms for other people, but rarely have people opened their arms in return. Such heavy attention echoes across his shoulders, quickening the pace of his heart. 

“Maybe we should go back—” Lucifer starts, but then he’s flying, lifted weightless into the stranger’s arms. He blinks, wide-eyed, but the stranger gives him a grin that’s all teeth. 

“I can at least pull this off, don’t you think?”

Lucifer almost protests, but then the stranger starts walking and it’s no different than how he was before; steady and full of confidence. 

This is a dream where his body fights him with every step he takes, but there is also this stranger that echoes Sandalphon. They aren’t the same; this stranger is far too forward, but their shadows overlap. Lucifer knows he’s being watched, that someone is paying attention is a relief. _Safety_ , comes the second exhale. The hands on his back and under his knees are impossibly warm and comforting. Like Sandalphon, Lucifer knows the stranger will keep danger away. 

But he is so seductive, and Lucifer heats up just thinking about it. Sandalphon the other night, arched over him, breathing _touch me_ , knowing that Lucifer would. He was confident and that was… exciting. Dreams whisper the truth beneath their muddled mysteries. Is this what he actually wants? What he wants Sandalphon to be?

The stranger hooks a sudden left at a patch of small yellow flowers, and Lucifer looks between the trail markers indicating to go right. He swallows, knowing up here there is nobody to help him in case something goes wrong. His body hums, _he wouldn’t_ , and Lucifer gulps down his fears. 

Off-trail the ground is muddy beneath the fallen leaves. Brambles snag, even on the slope. Tree trunks line thick, until they stop short right by a cliff. Lucifer’s feet meet the ground again, and he inches carefully to the edge, peering over. 

“Don’t get too close,” the stranger puts his bag down with a grunt. “If you fall, you’re going straight into those rocks. You being battered and destroyed would be fun, but not like that.”

Backing away, Lucifer turns to the side. The trees stand upright before the cliff face falls away, solitary and sharp like flat fangs. Below is an unblemished view of the stream rushing past them, pale blue cut by foam. Above them, the clouds rise thick from the earth. “It’s beautiful,” he marvels. On the hike yesterday, they stuck to the path, but Lucifer kept imagining what secrets lay off-trail. Maybe on the next hike he’ll be adventurous and find a spot just like this one.

“This is a practice run,” the stranger admits, taking a seat besides Lucifer on the rocks. He looks out at the stream, but beyond the mirrored waters maybe he’s looking at something else. “I know someone who wouldn’t be able to see this place too often. When I bring them here, I want it to mean something.”

“Someone special?”

“Oh, yes.” There’s a way to his whisper that feels far too intimate. 

Lucifer flushes, having thought the two of them lovers, but maybe he’s mistaken. There are other people in Sandalphon’s life, after all. But whoever Sandalphon loves, Lucifer will come to love them too. 

“I’m sure they’d love it,” Lucifer says. 

The stranger carries him down the mountain too, but it’s much easier on the decline with gravity helping them along the way. Down the trail, onto the road, past the distant neighbors, up towards the dark house. 

In the foyer, stripping off his muddied boots, Lucifer says, “That was amazing,” meaning it. “Thank you.”

The stranger stares at him for so long that Lucifer shifts and wonders if he did something wrong. Then the stranger slips into that smooth smile, and croons, “Thaank you.”

When Lucifer starts up the stairs, the stranger calls, “The girls are probably busy. Downstairs bathroom’s probably free.”

The empty monitor, carefully arranged bookshelves, and fold-out sofa bed coldly greet him. He hadn’t noticed the cracked bathroom door tucked away in the corner. A ghost stares back from the mirror; skin corpse-pale, eyes puffy with dark circles, a face so like his own but it’s not him, not him—

“Lucifer?”

He blinks, and his reflection follows his bewilderment. The fishing hat is still on his head, and his bag is by his side. Those are his clothes and his face and his body. He pats his pockets, his chest, pulls his hat off— all what he remembered.

“You okay?” Hal is watching him from the kitchen, digging through the cabinets for a bag of chocolates. “You didn’t forget anything out there, did you?”

“Out there?”

“Dunno, the mountain’s a big place. You find any nice birds? You were gone for a few hours.”

Lucifer turns to the mirror, making sure those are still his eyes. Him, once again. He drops his bag, stalking past the arrangement of couches and into the room with the ping-pong and pool tables, twisting around to the basement door. 

It’s still there, but he never noticed it with the giant tables catching most of their attention. He grabs the knob and turns it, but the door resists. A large padlock is biting down, determined not to move. 

“You’re tracking dirt all over the house,” Hal grumbles, catching up to him with the bag of chocolates secure in the crook of her elbow. “Seriously, are you okay?”

Lucifer pulls on the lock, but it doesn’t budge. “When you arrived, did the owners tell you what’s down there?” 

“No? I don’t know. They didn’t give us a key. I think it was locked last time too.” Hal shrugs. “Whatever. It’s not our house, so it’s none of our business what’s in the basement. Probably just the boiler and tools and such.”

“It’s always been locked?”

“Yeah? It was locked when we came here, and that thing’s heavy duty. We’d need a lock breaker or a hammer, and the owners would probably be pissed. Why?”

Lucifer stares, but the lock is immune to his wonder. “I’m not sure,” he mutters. “I think I had a strange dream last night.”

“Maybe you should lie down before our hike later.”

He nods, mute. Yes, perhaps that’s for the best. 

* * *

It’s a unanimous decision to go into town for lunch before the hike. The four of them are abuzz as they pile into the car. Sandalphon offers to drive, which, at the moment, feels like it’s for the best. The period of disorientation from that morning is somewhat concerning. Better not to chance it at the wheel.

Sandalphon taps at his phone screen rapidly, looking distressed as he deletes a notification. “How often do you get scam calls?”

“Not too often, I’m careful about who I give my number out to.” Lucifer frowns as he opens up the passenger side door and slips inside next to Sandalphon.

“Must be nothing. Just feels like they’ve been more persistent than usual lately. According to this one I’ve got breast augmentation plastic surgery consultation in two weeks.” That pulls a laugh out of Lucifer. Sandalphon laughs bitterly alongside him and blocks the number. “So what kind of food were we thinking?”

“Crepes!” Mal buckles herself in beside Hal in the back seat. “There’s a great place in town.”

“More sugar?” Hal shoots her a disapproving look.

“They’re not all sweet. There’s savory crepes too. Don’t you remember, silly?”

“Of course I remember. I just know you’re getting the same thing as last time!” The two of them chatter back and forth like a pair of songbirds enjoying the sound of their own voices. 

“Won’t that be too heavy before our hike?” Lucifer sifts through the overhead compartment and locates his favorite pair of sunglasses. They’re not exactly his style— with the mirrored finish that makes it impossible for anyone to see him through them— but they were a gift so Lucifer keeps them close. He pushes them up his nose and the world is painted in a pleasant gradient of muted color.

“Better than fast food at least.” Sandalphon shakes his head and glances over to Lucifer. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You still have those old things? I should get—“ The sentence dies in his throat. He blinks, once, then twice before his attention is back on the road. “Going into town?”

“Yes?” The sunglasses are folded up and placed into Lucifer’s lap. “Do you remember the way? I can pull up the map.”

“No need.” Sandalphon’s hand is on the back of Lucifer’s seat as he checks over his shoulder. “Mmm, the gate’s still in the way. Mind getting out and opening her up for me, babe? Little difficult to thrust my way through like this.” Heat creeps up Lucifer’s cheeks and the girls gawk openly.

“Sandalphon, you’re going to give me nightmares if you talk like that.” Mal is the first to recover from her daze and snatch up the low hanging fruit. “After everything we’ve already been through.”

It takes Lucifer a little longer. “I thought we already dragged it open?”

“Just a little too tight, we wouldn’t want to scratch the paint. Get a few more fingers in there and we’ll be good to go.”

Lucifer’s feet hit the gravel as Sandalphon starts the car. The gate looks like it’s open plenty wide enough for the car to fit, but if Sandalphon wants to be safe then Lucifer is content to take extra measures. He grips the old wood and drags it back another foot before the car goes rolling past him. Sandalphon salutes him lazily as he passes. There’s an easy confidence about him as he does a three point turn to right the car again, and Lucifer drags the gate closed.

As he approaches the car from behind, he hears the engine rev. There’s an uncomfortable moment where Lucifer freezes like a deer caught in the headlights— taillights. Wheels squeal, kicking up dirt and raining down onto him, and Lucifer covers his face, bracing himself for impact. 

The loud sound of metal impacting wood greets his ears. The birds stop singing. 

Adrenaline courses through Lucifer's veins. “Sandalphon!” He coughs, stumbling blindly towards the noise. “Hall! Mal!” A scream penetrates the air and— when the dust clears— Lucifer sees the wreckage.

There’s loose gravel everywhere, and the tires are still spinning, kicking up rocks and dirt. Wood splinters as a solitary old tree holds its ground against the crumpled in metal frame. 

“Sandalphon!” Lucifer scrabbles out of the way, giving the flying debris a wide berth. In the rearview mirror, he sees Sandalphon, calmly assessing the situation. Through the reflection, red eyes lock on him and Sandalphon’s face splits into a mischievous flash of teeth. Slowly, he looks away.

“Lucifer?” There’s fear in Sandalphon’s voice.

“I’m here!” Lucifer rushes up to the side of the vehicle. “Is anyone injured?”

“Mal and I are alright, I think.” Hal throws open the backseat door as the pair scrambles out, disoriented.

“Go back to the cabin. I’ll be right behind you.” They need to get far away from the accident. Any small spark could ignite the gas tank. The girls wobble off, seeming to be shaken up, but otherwise unharmed. 

Sandalphon. The driver side door wouldn’t budge, it’s far too bent up to open. The window had shattered, raining shards of glass onto Sandalphon’s lap. “Can you move?”

“I think so…?” His eyes keep slipping back to the passenger seat. “Lucifer, how did you get out?”

Now that is worrisome. “Turn off the ignition and put your arms around my neck. I’ll pull you out.” As much glass is brushed away from the window as possible. Lucifer removes his coat and lays it over the opening; not much padding between them and the broken glass shards, but there’s no time for anything else.

The key turns and Sandalphon’s hands are around Lucifer’s neck. “I might have hit my head…? I don’t remember.” Lucifer takes him up into his arms, lifting him out of the car.

“I’ll take a look.”

Sandalphon nods, but the vivid consternation in his face remains even as Lucifer carries him to safety. In his arms, the younger man is all coiled up like a string ready to snap. Neither of them say anything.

They're almost at the porch when Sandalphon chances a glance back at the wreckage, swallowing heavily. "How," he begins, his voice cracking, lost. He clears his throat. "How did this happen?"

"It's okay," Lucifer comforts in what he hopes is a reassuring tone. "Everything will be fine. Accidents like this happen."

Sandalphon’s mouth opens, but whatever he planned to say never comes to light. He purses his lips, ducking his head. 

Before Lucifer can say anything else, the girls open the door to usher them in. Once inside, they insist on helping Sandalphon to the couch.

With a phone in hand, Lucifer waves a light in front of Sandalphon’s eyes, one at a time, and observes them as they constrict and dilate. He turns the light off and has Sandalphon track his hand next. “Do you know your name?”

“Yes, it’s Sandalphon.”

“How about where we are?”

Sandalphon rattles off the cabin’s location, a look of increased agitation twisting his expression. There’s no bumps or bruises on his head, just a cut from some stray glass. Sandalphon seems alright aside from the minor memory loss. It’ll be smart to keep an eye out, but there isn’t much more Lucifer can do.

Lucifer reluctantly lets the girls take over; watching as they fuss over Sandalphon with furrowed brows, their movements far too pronounced to be natural. 

"I need to call insurance," Sandalphon groans, head in his hands. "I have to file a claim— oh god, my _fucking_ bill is gonna skyrocket — and then there's the towing costs—"

"One step at a time." Lucifer says, kneeling in front of him. "Let's not worry about that right now — I'll help cover your cost if needed. More importantly, how are you feeling?" 

The answer is immediate. "Awful. I barely have enough in my savings as it is, and I'm gonna have to blow it on something like this."

"Like I said, I'm more than willing to help cover you." Lucifer reiterates patiently, resting a hand gingerly on Sandalphon’s knee. "This isn't your fault."

"Like hell it isn't. I crashed the car." Sandalphon clenches his knuckles, a bit scuffed up and bruised. Otherwise, he'd gotten away with very light injuries. "Regardless of whether I remember it or not. The fact remains that I was the one behind the steering wheel."

"So you don't remember anything?" Hal comes into the room, a glass of water in each hand. 

"The last thing I remember is getting in the car. Everything else is..." Sandalphon says with a note of exasperation. "But that's beside the point." He puts his arms together, leaning forward. It looks like he’s about to scream. “What’s happening to me? It’s as if I’m losing control of myself.”

“Have you been sleeping enough?” Hal asks, setting both glasses down before settling next to Mal. She reaches out to cradle her girlfriend’s hand. “Sounds to me like you two need to wind down a bit more at night. You know, take a break every once in a while.” 

“Can you _please_ stop making everything about my sex life?”

“Hey, it’s a valid concern!” Hal laughs. “I remember when I first started dating Mal, too. I know what it feels like to be young and voracious—”

“This is not helping.” Sandalphon rubs his temples and gets to his feet. He takes extra care to not graze the band-aid on his face. Lucifer gets a near uncontrollable urge to caress his cheek, but he holds back. “I’m going to make a call. I’ll be right back.”

“Do you need me to go with you?” 

“No, it’s alright.” Sandalphon looks down at him, wine red eyes softening around the edges. “You can stay here.”

When Sandalphon disappears into another room, Lucifer levels a look at the girls, who are visibly trying to contain themselves. “Please don’t tease him so much.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it.” Hal leans back. “He just looked so glum — it was the only way I knew how to cheer him up.” 

“He did have a point, though.” Mal remarks thoughtfully. “We’ve all been acting weird these past few days. Is it really just because of a new environment?”

“Well, who’s to say.” Hal shrugs. “We’ve only been here for a few days, and we all adjust differently. Sandy probably just needs a little more time.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Lucifer stamps down the stark unease clouding his mind. Her conclusion is half-baked at best; but they don’t have anything else to go off on. He doesn’t want to cause them panic for no reason. “In any case, why don’t we go outside and get some fresh air?”

“Sounds like a good idea. We were supposed to go on another hike.” Mal jumps on, suddenly animated once more. “What are we going to do about lunch, though?”

“There’s always leftovers in the fridge, if you two are fine with that. We need to replenish our energy before heading out.”

They agree easily, looking like they’d rather be anywhere but there. Lucifer is inclined to agree — there’s something about this house that bothers him, and he’s not sure what.

Sandalphon comes back to the room a little more agitated than usual, but goes along with them without any major protest. Lucifer makes a note to bring up the matter of his auto insurance later — he knows how tight Sandalphon’s finances are. Lucifer doesn’t want to give him up to his own personal hell, despite how well the man seems to be able to hide it under his veneer of passive indifference.

They’ll get through this together. He’ll make sure of it.

* * *

The trail is familiar to them now, and they navigate their way around with ease. Sandalphon’s ankle doesn’t seem to be bothering him anymore, and he keeps his pace much easier with the rest of them. This time, they decide to take a detour, going off of their intended trail. It’s too late now to make the hike up the mountain and finish off their first trip, with the sun already starting its slow descent down. 

They cross a handful of streams and creeks when they make out a forest in the distance, giant Sequoia trees imposing even from afar. Up close, it feels almost unreal.

“Oh my gosh, look!” Mal gasps, and what Lucifer sees takes his breath away.

The forest floor, previously covered in green moss, branches, and leaves, is now covered in a carpet of purple; like something out of a fairytale. Millions of bluebells and hyacinths stretch out with no signs of ending. The areas are dark where birch trees begin sprouting their leaves — some fog would make it seem like they stepped into a dream.

"This is beautiful…” Sandalphon breathes. “I never knew so many flowers could exist in one spot."

“Huh.” Hal strolls in, inspecting the ground. “This isn’t man made, is it?” 

“You know what this means?” There’s an infectious grin splitting Mal’s face. Before any of them can say anything, she has her phone out. 

Hal sighs, having borne the brunt of Mal’s whims more than enough times to count. “I’m going to go look for a trail. Lucifer, do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Lucifer replies pleasantly. “I’ll look after her. We’ll catch up to you in a bit.” 

He looks at Sandalphon, who meets his gaze and huffs. “I’ll go with Hal, then.” Sandalphon sounds exasperated, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Don’t take too long, now.”

The two of them disappear through the underbrush, leaving Lucifer alone with Mal, who’s looking curiously down at her phone, turning it over and over. “Mal? Didn’t you want me to take your picture?”

She looks up at him, beaming. “Is this my phone? It looks so cute!” It’s the same phone she’s had for a couple months now, a high end smartphone with a liquid star glitter-filled case encased in a glossy finish. Overlaid on it is a quote he’s read numerous times: _never stop dreaming._

He blinks, confused when she shoves the phone screen in his face. It’s his reflection, but the creases around his eyes are distinct, heavy and dark. His complexion is pale; unhealthily so. He touches his face, and the reflection follows.

“Lucifer?” A muffled voice coming from upstairs. He doesn’t recognize her voice, but instinct pushes him towards it anyway. On the first step, the aching pang returns, like a long lost lover. He bites back a groan, holding a hand to his sternum as if it would keep the pain at bay.

He’s back in the cabin. Why is he back in the cabin? They should be miles away at this point. 

The journey up the stairs is much worse now than it was the last time, and he’s panting heavily by the time he gets to the top. Over the haze of pain, he registers how fast his heart is beating.

A gasp pierces through the veil, and Lucifer looks up to see a young girl next to the kitchen island, hands over her mouth in shock. There’s stark recognition in her eyes, a gold sheen that stands out under her pale, long hair. “Lucifer, is that… you?”

“Do I know you?” Lucifer manages to take a few more steps before his legs decide it's enough, and his knees buckle.

“Lucifer!” She’s by his side in an instant, tiny hands wrapping around him. She’s radiating warmth, so much warmth. Lucifer resists the urge to nuzzle into it. “Lucifer, it’s me, Mal! What happened to you? You’re so pale...”

“Mal,” Lucifer whispers. It's as loud as he can go without aggravating his insides further. “So you’re in this dream, too?”

“Dream? What are you talking about? And why are we back at the house?” Her oddly high-pitched voice is panicked as her eyes dart all around the room. 

"Mal," he reaches out with spindly fingers, latching on to her arm. She turns big, fearful eyes back to him. "What's the last thing you remember?" 

"Um...we were in a really pretty forest. I wanted you to take a picture of me…"

Lucifer nods, albeit with great difficulty. "At least we're both on the same page."

"Do you know what's going on?"

"Something that's been happening more often as of late." Lucifer's brows scrunch together. 

"You mean… like the incident earlier today?"

Something churns in his gut, and he feels lightheaded. "I don't have a good feeling about this. We should try and look for a way back."

But Mal isn't looking at him. Her gaze is fixed behind him, at the doorway. Her grip on him tightens. "Sandalphon…? No… who are you?"

There stands the handsome stranger, with shopping bags dangling on each arm. The stranger takes one look at them and clicks his tongue before setting down his things on the counter. 

“Oooh boy. So it’s both of you." He sighs, scratching the back of his head. "Guess it doesn’t matter either way, but it’s a real shame — I liked her.”

“What do you mean?” Lucifer winces. He feels heavy, like falling through the floor. “Who are — hn!” Another pang, and it cripples his ability to speak. He's never known such excruciating agony in his life.

"This is why you shouldn't be pushing yourself." The stranger's voice is close, much too close. The next thing he knows, he's lifted into strong arms, cradled gently to his chest. 

"What are you going to do to him?" he thinks he hears Mal cry out. He's not sure — he can't make sense of anything anymore; half out of his mind as he is. 

There's gentle murmuring in his ear, words swimming in and out. He's sitting down now, monitor beeping beside him as the stranger administers his medication. There's a pinch in his right arm, tubes in his nostrils, before he gradually comes to his senses. Breath returns to his lungs like a breeze of amrita, and he sighs in sweet, sweet relief.

"Back with us, now?" The silhouette in front of him sharpens, and the stranger comes into clarity. They're back in the basement, where it all first started. "You're feisty too, aren't you? You're going to have to take it easy, don't ride that body too hard."

There's something off about the way he says it, and Lucifer can't even begin to fathom it. His hands gather the bedsheets under him weakly. "You…"

"Yes, love?"

"Who… who are you… really?" 

The stranger smiles and says nothing. 

Lucifer opens his mouth, but warm hands on his shoulder coaxes him to turn — in the mirror by the wall he sees sunken cheekbones, hooded eyes, and the stranger nuzzling against him, ardent lips pressing a secret on his neck just as the world turns on its heel.

When he comes to, he’s looking at the shining blade of the pocket knife he always carries with him.

It’s red. 

A ghastly shriek ruptures the air, sending birds scattering from hidden treetops and torrents of dry, cracked leaves falling around them like a deathly premonition. Crumpled on the ground is a body, small and petite. Blood streams down her arm, pooling and tainting her raven hair even darker. It stands out among the blue surrounding them, pop art splatters. “Mal?”

Her pale green dress has a growing stain in the middle of her waist, losing blood fast. Pressure on the wound; that’s all he can think of as he drops the knife. 

Nothing has prepared him for this much blood. He’s a psychologist— a school counselor— not an Emergency Room doctor or even a Paramedic. Still, he drops to his knees beside her and places his hands over the wound; exerting pressure. He has no gauze or gloves, but even Lucifer can tell that this is far beyond that. The blood gushes out from around his fingers, leaking life from her with every beat of her heart. It squishes under his palms, sending fear-prickles down his neck. 

This has to be another bad dream, one that Sandalphon will wake Lucifer up from with a hand against his sweat drenched brow. Lucifer fights against the red torrent. It’s a lost cause. They will not get her down the mountain in time.

Mal is clothed in a deep shade of wine now, her eyes glazing over.

 _“Don’t touch her!”_ Hal screams in a voice that Lucifer has never heard before in his life. He springs back just in time for her to dive towards Mal. In Hal’s embrace, her body is limp, head lolling back. “Mal? Hey, answer me. Mal? Stay with me, please...”

_Mal._

When he turns to Sandalphon, his eyes are wide, almost as if unseeing, directed down. Lucifer follows his gaze, and finds his own hand caked in the unmistakable color of blood.

Blood. On his hands, on his knife.

“I didn’t—” Lucifer begins. Suddenly, he feels very cold. “Please understand, I—”

“You _killed_ her!” Hal explodes, and her voice cracks. “Why? Why did you kill her?” 

But he _didn’t._ Only seconds ago, he’d been talking to Mal. “Hal—” 

“Stay away from me!” She spits, holding Mal even closer. “You monster!”

The forest groans as the wind picks up. He barely hears it over the blood rushing in his ear and Hal taking rapid, shallow breaths. Her pupils are dilated, and her whole body shakes, like a string ready to snap. She's hyperventilating. “I understand how you’re feeling, but right now, I need you to take deep breaths—” 

“Shut up!” She screams, and the world tilts around him. 

Rife with hysteria, Hal picks up the knife — _Lucifer’s_ knife, worn and faithful in its numerous years of cutting nothing more organic than bark or twine— and lunges.

The whole world slows to a crawl then, almost as if telling him to remember this; engrave this moment in his mind for all of eternity. 

He braces for impact, but nothing comes. Seconds stretch out to minutes. When he opens his eyes, he sees her stopped in her tracks, paralyzed. A force, repelling danger. She screams, kicks, bites — but Sandalphon holds on steadfast. Trapping the blade and locking her shoulder with the other, he grits his teeth, and twists. Slowly, steadily, surely. He’s saying something, but Lucifer can’t make it out over the sight of blood, rushing to greet the serrated edges burrowing itself deeper into the meat of his skin.

Red. So much red.

She yelps, dropping the knife. Sandalphon wastes no time kicking it away before he pivots behind her, locking her limbs in.

“What do you think you’re doing!”

“Let go of me!” She growls, but his grip is unrelenting. “He took her from me! I’ll never forgive him!”

“And you think this is going to help? Stop it!” Sandalphon digs his hands into her shoulder, staining her right red. “Get a hold of yourself!”

“She’s _dead!_ You saw him hold the knife with your own eyes! He stabbed her!”

“I know.”

“If you don’t let me go right now I swear — I swear I’ll fucking kill you!” Hal swears, eyes shimmering in white fury. “If you’re going to protect a _killer_ , then you don’t deserve to live! _”_

“Fine. If it’ll make you feel better, go ahead.” Sandalphon lets go, stepping back to throw his arms out wide. “You’ll have to finish me off first to get to him, though.”

Lucifer jolts. “Sandalphon, you can’t—” 

A sharp glare stops him in his tracks. It’s brief but powerful, like a bolt of lightning leaving crackling thunder in its wake. He’s determined, and nothing Lucifer can do will change his mind.

Lucifer lets out a shaky breath, curling his fists. Of all the times... 

“What are you waiting for? Hit me, stab me, strangle me — I won’t resist.”

There's a moment’s hesitation, a shadow flitting across her face. Then she steps forward. “You really want to die that badly?” 

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” He doesn’t budge, not even when she winds slender fingers around his neck. He knows she’s taken self-defense classes; it’s highly likely she knows about several vulnerable targets in the neck. He doesn’t move even when she starts squeezing and his body seizes up. His breaths come quick and shallow; even more so when she presses deliberately against his trachea, invoking a terrible, choked gasp.

Then, she stops. 

Sandalphon doubles over, gulping massive amounts of air. Lucifer would be by his side in an instant if he didn’t hold up a hand to stop him in advance. “Why did you stop?” He croaks, wincing at an invisible bruise. “You said you were going to kill me.”

Her gaze is directed down at her hands, transfixed by how much they’re shaking. Her entire body is wracked with shivers, a leaf in the wind. “I don’t know. I was so sure...”

Sandalphon wipes a hand over his mouth. “I think I know. And deep down, you know too.”

“Shut up.” Hal hisses, but it lacks bravado. “You know nothing about me.”

“True. I don’t know you as well as Mal or Lucifer, and I doubt I ever will. But I don’t need to know you to recognize what you’re going through.”

“Oh, really? Did you also watch the love of your life get murdered in front of you by someone you thought you could trust?” Her voice drips with caustic hurt, meant to debilitate. Lucifer’s heart aches with the depth of a wound he has no way of controlling. 

“That’s not the point. I’m saying nothing good will come out from acting rashly.” His voice is grave, eerily calm. “Only regret. Once you cross the line, you can never go back. You hear me?” He brings his face closer to hers, until they are both eye-level. “Do you want to carry this burden for the rest of your life? Are you ready?”

“I don’t care,” Hal grits out. “If I don’t avenge her now…”

“You know Mal wouldn’t have wanted this.”

A second passes, then two. Sandalphon withdraws with care, and she stays upright for only a few more seconds before succumbing to gravity. Her eyes are downcast and brimming, reminding Lucifer of how the sky is before the first splash of rain. “This has to be a bad dream.” She weeps. “Oh, Mal…” 

There’s a moment of silence between them, broken only by Hal’s quiet sobbing. Lucifer has known her for eight years, and he’s never seen her cry. Not even when she lost her beloved pet hamster she’d rescued and nurtured two months ago, or even when her mother passed away. She’d always be strong; so strong.

Sandalphon isn’t looking at her. He isn’t looking at either of them — his gaze trained on something far away. It feels like he’s somewhere else. 

“Sandalphon,” Lucifer begins hesitantly. When Sandalphon turns those eyes to him, familiar and warm, it feels like a dam in him is breaking. He takes a step forward, reaching out. “Your hand—”

“I’m fine.” Sandalphon tucks his arm behind him, breaking eye contact. “Stay where you are.”

Lucifer’s arm falls as the door slams shut. 

Across from them, Mal lays unmoving. In life, she had a ready smile and kind, knowing eyes. In death, she is ghostly pale, her lips already bluish. It wasn't an unfamiliar sight — she had always been sensitive to the cold. Lucifer doesn't remember a time when she wouldn't rub the icicles she would call her feet against him when he least expected it.

(He's never minded. He's always had an excess of warmth, and the cold is soothing on his skin, although the looks he gets for admitting that out loud is a little strange.)

However, in spite of her worrying intolerance, not even the cold can rouse her from slumber. She’d always been a heavy sleeper; only Hal really knew how to wake her up. 

And now, no one does.

“It’ll be dark soon.” Sandalphon tells him, and his face is set in stone. “We don’t have much time — we need to hide the body. But first,” he crouches down, picking up Lucifer’s knife, eroded beyond repair. Lucifer doesn’t even recognize it anymore. “We need to get rid of the evidence.”

Hal’s words come out in a scream. “Get rid— evidence? You— you, you’re going to get rid— of… No!” Hal crawls over to Mal, her knees scraped green by the tall grass. She hovers protectively in front of Mal, teeth bared. “You’re not touching her.”

“We can’t just leave her here. This is an open trail, someone will come along.”

“Good! I hope someone does! When I get down to the house, I-I’m calling the cops! Then they’ll find out that _he_ did it!”

“A body’s evidence—”

“She’s not evidence!” Hal shouts, raw. “She’s Mal! What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with all of you?”

Sandalphon’s expression is stone-flat. “Lucifer didn’t do it,” he says with a finality that Lucifer wishes he could believe in.

Hal stares at him for a long moment, and yells, “What? You saw— the knife, the blood— did some bear come out of the mountains and leave when we weren’t looking?”

“I know Lucifer!” Sandalphon erupts, then he’s hushed again, drawn back up tight. “The Lucifer I know wouldn’t do this. Lucifer, he’s… he’s kind. He cares about people. He cares too much, he takes his patients’ calls on weekends and he always donates to the fundraisers outside the supermarkets and he beats himself up when people do the wrong thing and… and you think he’d just murder someone?”

And yet there he is, with bloodied hands that lay limp in the weeds. 

“Your boyfriend,” Hal says, slow, “just killed my girlfriend. He may be your boyfriend, but he just _killed_ —”

“He tried to save her life, you saw it.”

“From the wound he gave her!”

“Would the Lucifer _you_ know do this? You’ve known him for years, for... longer than me. Would he just kill someone like that? Would he kill _Mal?_ ”

She flinches, caught unaware in her own memories. “But he did.” Her answer is smaller, this time.

“Did he? Someone like Lucifer? Him?”

“I…”

“And if he didn’t— then you’d send an innocent man to jail because you were too hasty. Your _friend_. In jail for a murder he didn’t commit.” With a sigh, Sandalphon lets his shoulders drop. “Maybe you’re okay with that.”

All the fight goes out of her. Maybe she’s convinced, maybe she’s too tired to fight back. Lucifer feels the exhaustion pulling his body down. He hasn’t blinked in the past few minutes. 

Only Sandalphon moves. He kicks up dirt where blood has fallen and upturns the flowers, throwing them off the path. He is all action, none of the bone-tired haze that Lucifer feels. Mechanical, like he’s done this before. 

The sun is halfway down the horizon, bleeding into the sky when Sandalphon takes a deep breath and says, “Let’s go.”

* * *

This isn’t the first time Lucifer has carried Mal. 

After one of her recitals, she’d tripped over a tool box and sprained her ankle. It was the last day of performances, but she was still a mess. Lucifer offered to give her a ride, but she was in no position to walk to the parking lot, even with help. 

“Oh, Lucifer, you don't have to do this,” she said between sniffles. Once he’d lifted her onto his back, she’d tried to keep her pain in, lest she accidentally dribble snot and tears all over his neck. “Hal’s going to be jealous.”

“I think she wouldn’t be bothered by this.”

“She’s been trying to get enough arm strength to pick me up for years now. It’s still a work in progress.”

Lucifer paused for a moment, and then asked, “Do you think she could manage to pick me up? I wouldn’t mind.”

Mal snorts through her laughter, the first time she’d cracked a smile since she’d crashed into the polished stage floor. She wound her arms around a little tighter, muttering, “Thank you.”

She was heavy before, all solid muscle honed from ballet. She is heavy now, but she doesn’t cry or speak or breathe. She is still so warm-- he’d always thought of corpses as stiff and cold, even if he knew those were corpses long left and preserved to be clinically preserved in labs, not fresh and raw— it would retain heat in her veins, at least for a little while. Her head sags against Lucifer’s shoulder, as if she was fast asleep, waiting for Lucifer to carry her home. 

Blood is seeping through the back of Lucifer’s shirt, clinging damp to his skin. Red rain, beating down his back. 

Sandalphon is a few steps behind them, making sure that he scuffs up or covers any blood that ends up dripping onto the trail. He has become icy in the chaos of things, retreated his humanity into himself so he can only focus on action. His shape doesn’t fit the Sandalphon Lucifer knows, but it feels like a drop in the pond, an echo of the Sandalphon Lucifer first met, standing dead-eyed at the register. Unsmiling, waiting to get through the day, but wound up tight to not do anything to put his employment at risk. Even after they’d started dating and moved in together, something in their apartment would shift, as houses move occasionally the older they are, and Sandalphon would sharpen himself at the disturbance. What he saw in the shadows Lucifer didn’t know, but it was more than just shadows. Now, he rubs out some dripped blood on a rock with his shoe and then kicks it off-trail. 

Hal trails behind Sandalphon, not speaking to either of them. She moves like a corpse forced to animate, her joints made of stone. She looks at anything but them; the thick-trunked trees, the swooping birds, but can she see them? Once she catches Lucifer looking at her, and then she is a volcano, sending tremors and ash with her red-rimmed eyes. Lucifer drops his gaze instantly, full of shock and guilt and shame. Friends don’t look at friends like that. 

The knife, coated red. The body, open gashed, leaking life. Wouldn’t he have remembered the murderous intent, felt the weight of his arm driving the knife into her flesh, heard her scream? Is that something he would have just forgotten? He takes another heavy step, so filled up but transparent enough the wind passes through him with ease. He is a monster, but the worst kind; a monster with not even the respect to remember. All he remembers is dreaming. 

Drip-drip, blood down his back. Red steals the blue from his shirt. 

They never discussed where to hide the body, only that it had to be somewhere on the mountain. His shoulders sag lower, low enough that the weight could slip off his back if he’s not careful. They decided to hide Mal, but where? They only know the mountain from two days of hiking. It is vast and filled to the brim with mysteries, but they’re all mysteries none of them know of, or know how to solve. On the trail is too obvious, so is slightly off the trail. Somehow, they’d have to explain how her flesh has gouged out, all with natural means. Where? Where—

By his feet is a small patch of yellow flowers, clustered together like fireflies. Lucifer catches his breath, and then, seized with inspiration, steps off the path. 

“Hey!” Hal calls behind him, and he hears the rustle of her boots on new leaves, and the thwack of her pushing branches out of the way as she charges after him. “Where are you going!” 

Lucifer can’t answer her, but the incline and mud keeps his pace slow, until the trees drop out of the way and rise up anew. The same cliffside greets him with a smile. Sky meets the trees and water. His dream comes alive. 

“This—” Sandalphon walks to the edge, peering over, and Lucifer knows he’s caught sight of the sharp rocks below. He bites his lip, then nods. They lock eyes in understanding, Sandalphon’s, deep and full of horrible conviction, and Lucifer’s, small and afraid. 

“No. No, no, no, no, no.” It dawns on Hal, and she grabs Sandalphon by his collar. “We are not— I won’t let you. I’m not letting you two just— just throw her away like that—”

“How else?” Sandalphon counters sharp and strikes quick, “Are we going to carry her back to the house? With the neighbors on the hill? What if they have binoculars? What if a car drives by on the road and sees us?”

“Nobody’s out here,” Hal starts, but Sandalphon chops her words down. 

“We get her back to the house and then what? Are you hoping we’d find tools in the shed?”

Hal’s face goes three shades whiter. “I’m not saying that.”

“Then _where?_ ” Sandalphon slams his foot down. “We can’t stuff her into trash bags in one piece and they will tag our car if we drive to the dump with it. They have cameras! Everywhere! You have a better idea?”

“No, I—” Hal whirls on Lucifer. “How did he know about this place? We’ve never been here!”

How can he explain that his dream came to life? How can he say that his feet took him here, and he knew the trees would part for him? 

“Those rocks?” Sandalphon jabs a finger down the edge of the cliff, “They’ll do so much damage to her that when someone does fish up her body, they won’t be able to tell one wound from the next. When they find her, it won’t be murder. It’ll be… an accident.” He looks at Lucifer, resolute. “It already was an accident.”

Hal is already back in tears, and he’s never seen her cry before today. “But…”

“It’s this, or we cut her up. You think that will be respectful?”

At last losing strength in her knees, Hal buckles, sobbing. 

Lucifer shrugs Mal off his back and Hal springs up, darting to his side. “Don’t be rough with her! Don’t…” Her eyes fall on Mal’s face, now cleaned of blood by Lucifer’s handkerchief. Her eyes have been closed by Sandalphon, but they’re slightly ajar, like she’s just waking up from a deep dream. Shaking, she takes Mal’s hand and presses it to her face, remembering its faint heat. Lucifer chews his lip, not moving and afraid to breathe, of possibly disturbing a moment nobody else should be watching in on. 

She looks at the edge of the cliff where the flatland meets the sky drowned in red, and shirks away like it burns her. She hasn’t yet gone to the edge to see the rocks below, but she knows they’re there. As she stands, she lurches, like something inside her is trying to fight its way out. “I can’t watch this,” she chokes out, and dashes into the trees. 

Lucifer takes a step after her, but Sandalphon catches his arm. He shakes his head, and Lucifer knows he’s right. 

Quiet follows once Hal’s feet no longer break the leaves. The humidity in Lucifer’s chest feels like a coming storm. As he lifts Hal up again, he realizes that he’s shaking with every step. He holds her aloft, as if she were standing en pointe by the rocks. She droops forward, like she’s bending over for a closer look. 

Lucifer lets go.

He twists away, stumbling back. He hears the splash, then there is only the river, the leaves swaying in the wind. If he looks, he’ll vomit. Dropping his head onto a tree, he breathes short as the space between his lungs constricts. 

The sun is overtaken by a cloud, and the breeze picks up. The river whispers a warning as it rushes down the mountain. 

Sandalphon is the first to move, shrugging off his jacket and putting it over Lucifer’s shoulders. His shadow is gone, and all Lucifer hears is the rustling of weeds. When Sandalphon returns, his arm is hooked in Hal’s elbow. She isn’t looking at either of them. Wordlessly, Sandalphon pulls Lucifer up, hooks his other arm, and drags them back onto the path. 

Lucifer’s feet are iron, but they bend on the soil, somehow. 

* * *

“Can we talk about this?” Sandalphon’s voice carries from the kitchen.

“What’s there to talk about? He’s a murderer! You saw it too.” Hal is inconsolable. The pair of them argue back and forth with no end in sight. Had the situation been different, Lucifer might have offered himself to act as mediator— If the situation was different. Hal’s eyes burn holes into the back of Lucifer’s head.

“There must be some mistake.”

“How could there be?”

“Lucifer wouldn’t do something like that. You know him, there must be some kind of explanation.” Sandalphon is defending him. He doesn’t have the full story— no one has the full story.

Knife. Blood. Body. The aftermath Lucifer remembers clearly, but the lead up— the act— nothing. Is he guilty? What he can remember makes no sense. Was it the mind's way of coping with an atrocity? Is he a danger to the other two? This would be so much easier if he wasn’t himself— if he could look at this from an objective point of view.

“We should call the police—“ 

Sandalphon is quick to cut her off. “No.” He catches himself too quickly and Lucifer squeezes his eyes shut. The world continues to turn around him. “We already hid the body. How would that look? Besides I…”

The moment is gone and Hal launches them into the next. “You want me to help you cover up the death of my girlfriend? Are you insane?”

“We can figure this out, we just need to hear Lucifer out. There must be a reason.” They’re talking about him like he’s not in the other room, well within earshot. Being part of the furniture is better than being a murderer. The way that Hal looks at him. Maybe he deserves it? Lucifer wishes he could grieve right now.

“There’s nothing to figure out! You let him throw her off—“ a frustrated cry, “—you trapped me into this; made me an accomplice. I’ll never forgive you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I can’t believe we— what are we supposed to do? What am _I_ supposed to do now?” 

Words will do no good, but Lucifer’s also not helping by staying silent. He digs his fingers into the meat of his palm, and fixes his gaze forward. There is no good solution. He can’t help. The room is ablaze with fire. He stands at the center of it all, watching impassively, awaiting his verdict. His piece has already been said and now it is time to wait and see if the fire burns him.

“Just… sleep on it for now.” Sandalphon suggests. It’s not what should be said in the situation— it isn’t a good idea to leave someone alone for long in this state, but Lucifer is not there to sweep in and save him. He’s far away and the blood is on his hands.

“You want me to sleep in that room?”

There’s an extended silence, a stretch of nonverbal communication that Lucifer is not privy to. For the best. Sandalphon is the one to break it. “I’ll bring you bedding to sleep on the couch.”

She shouldn’t be left alone, but what other option is there? Keep Hal in the room with her girlfriend’s killer or leave the killer alone. Sandalphon’s doing the best he can. Lucifer is not helping.

There’s a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.” Lucifer rises, mute, and follows Sandalphon’s lead back to their bedroom. There is no ritual preparation for sleep. Sandalphon directs Lucifer towards the bathroom, “Wash up, but stay here. I’ll be right back.” The door’s left wide open. “Oh and toss your clothes over the stool in the bathroom. I’ll get rid of them tomorrow morning.” Sandalphon pokes his head back in momentarily, giving the bloodied fabric a hard look, before disappearing again.

The trust between them is gone.

The words that are passed between Sandalphon and Hal are too soft to be heard over the running water. Probably better that Lucifer doesn’t hear. He’s the one that has caused them both this hurt. All he knows is, when Sandalphon returns, the door clicks shut behind him.

“Your hand, you should take care of that.” Lucifer doesn’t look up from the floor. At some point he must have changed and sat himself down at the foot of the bed. Time doesn’t feel real. “You don’t want to get an infection.”

“It’s stopped bleeding, I’ll go wash it. The first aid kit is under the sink, right?”

“Yes.”

The bathroom light flickers back on and again Lucifer is left alone with his own thoughts. He hasn’t said anything— hasn’t tried defending himself yet, but still Sandalphon has not accused him outright of his crime.

The death of Mal.

The bed dips as Sandalphon returns and sits. Neither of them speak, ushering in an extended silence that stretches out in the freezing air between. What could Sandalphon possibly be thinking right now? Lucifer drums his fingers against his thigh.

“I just want you to know,” Sandalphon cuts in, “that I’m with you no matter what.”

The fire should consume Lucifer. He’s dry wood, soaked in gasoline, and rouge sparks lick at his boots. The heat never catches. The evidence is stacked up against him. Still, he needs to know.

Knife. Blood. Body. Mal, dead, at his feet— Lucifer’s friend. Dead. At his feet.

“You don’t believe me either?” It’s not an open ended question, the type he would use with a patient, but Sandalphon is not a student and Lucifer is not his mentor. “Shouldn’t you be afraid?”

Sandalphon won’t look up at him. “No.”

They had hid the body— why had they hid the body? Innocent people didn’t cover their tracks. “I don’t even know if I believe me. How much am I not remembering? I should confess. We should find her—”

“No—!” Sandalphon is trembling as he cuts Lucifer off. “No.” He resumes some semblance of calm. “They would see a killer. We can’t take that chance until we get this story straight.”

“How do you know I’m not a killer?”

“I don’t.”

“Then why are you protecting me?”

Sandalphon grits his teeth. “Because it doesn’t matter. I’m on your side no matter what.”

“Sandalphon, that’s not—“

“I won’t lose you. I already had a glimpse of what that might feel like today. In the car, I thought I’d… you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Lucifer feels like his lungs were giving up on him, just as they had when he had been submerged in that strange dream. His chest is tight. His throat closes up. Is he going to lose himself again and hurt someone else? Would it be Sandalphon this time? 

“Hey, look at me.” Sandalphon catches Lucifer’s hands in his own. “I know you.”

“Do I even know myself?” With his other hand, Lucifer buries his face. “What if it’s not safe to be near me? I don’t know what kind of state I was in. How can I not remember?”

“I’ll protect you.” Confidence concealing desperation. “Come, sleep. We can talk about this in the morning.”

Sleep— how were any of them meant to sleep? Sandalphon guides him to lay down, pushing back against the slight resistance. Unwilling to fight him further on the topic, Lucifer falls slack against Sandalphon’s touch. They settle down with Sandalphon’s chest pressing against Lucifer’s back. Sandalphon doesn’t let go even as the silence stretches between them. It’s as if he’s afraid that Lucifer will leave— turn himself in while Sandalphon’s sleeping. It’s an anchor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise Belifer


End file.
